Siren Song
by Zari of Anthemoessa
Summary: One month after the mysterious events surrounding the so-called "Opera Ghost", a new girl arrives in Paris and joins the chorus. But it soon becomes clear to everyone that she is more than she seems...
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you to everyone who is reading this. It's my first story, so I hope that you all will read it and enjoy. As a special treat, reviewers get a free backstage pass at the Paris opera, with a guided tour led by none other than the Phantom himself!**

The rain was falling in an endless torrent from the raven Paris sky. Thunder and lightning, percussion in some deadly orchestra, filled the night with light and sound. Midnight had since passed, and even the streetlights were extinguished. Not a soul could be found on the streets of Paris that night. No one dared to brave the storm.

That is, no one except for the lone girl standing on the street corner.

The girl was dressed peculiarly, in a man's shirt and trousers. She also wore a soft, brown cap, at this point so completely soaked through with rain that it could do nothing to protect the long, thick, wavy hair on which it sat. Her hair was pure silver starlight with just the slightest light blue sheen of the uppermost and outermost zeniths of the open sky. Her brown knapsack was also completely soaked through, as were, she suspected and feared, all of the items inside. Lightning flashed, with thunder following less than a second later. The girl turned her storm-colored eyes towards the heavens and said in a voice at once both defiant and scared:

"Damn it, Zeus, why do you have to use me for target practice now?"

Her question was answered by another roll of thunder. She bit the second knuckle of her left index finger, a habit only recently developed. The way things were going, she was either going to be struck by lightning or die from exposure before the night was out. If she wanted to survive she was going to have to find shelter fast.

But where? There was nowhere for her to go. It was the middle of the night, and no one in the entire city was awake to take her in.

Suddenly, through the storm, she heard the sound of an organ softly playing. She gasped and closed her eyes, listening hard for the music, making sure it was really there. Sure enough, seeping through the storm she distinctly heard a song being played on an organ. It was soft and sweet, but also had a tinge of sadness, like an old memory of a time when things were better. She felt, standing in the pouring rain, like she was listening to someone's fondest and most bittersweet memories in the form of a song.

A crash of thunder jolted her out of her reflections. She began running, following the music to find the source. Music that wonderful had to be played by someone, and maybe that person would let her in for the night.

She had run about a half a mile before she finally came to where she knew the music was being played. The building was large and made of stone, imposing in the darkness. She began pounding on the doors with all her might as lightning flashed overhead. "Let me in!" She shouted, slamming her fists against the oaken doors. "Someone, anyone, please let me in!"

The organ music continued on, the musician clearly oblivious to her cries.

The girl swore under her breath. Of course, she had forgotten just how good her hearing really was. There was no way that any normal person could conceivably hear the organ music from outside the building, certainly no way that the organ player could conceivably hear her shouts from outside.

She bit her knuckle again as the rain grew harder still. She knew that this was her last shot. It was either get shelter here, or perish in the storm. She drew a nervous breath, filling her diaphragm up to its full capacity. There was no choice. She would have to sing.

She quickly listened to the music, trying to figure out what words she could sing to its tune. She furrowed her brow in frustration. This was no good, the only lyrics she could think of were terrible, and, even in her desperate situation, she really wanted to make a good first impression to such a phenomenal musician…

Lightning struck so close to her that she felt the hairs on her neck stand on end. There was no time to waste. Mediocre lyrics would have to do. She waited until the song's refrain started, and then began to sing:

"Solo musician at the organ: please hear what I'm singing.

Outside the storm is growing stronger. Won't you please let me in?"

The music stopped with an abruptness usually reserved for situations in which the musician had had a sudden heart attack. The only difference was that this time there was no obnoxious cord caused by a recently created cadaver collapsing onto the keys. The girl sighed with relief. Merciful Athena, it had worked.

About fifteen minutes later the large doors opened and she thankfully stepped inside. She took off her hat and took a few steps forward, hearing the doors shut behind her. She was now in total darkness. She felt around until she found a chair that she could sleep in. She looked around, searching for the person who had let her in, but, finding no one, settled for turning her head vaguely towards the ceiling, and calling, she hoped, to whoever the person was. "Thank you!"

There was no response.

Hoping that the person had heard her, she settled down in the chair, closed her eyes, and was soon asleep.

Unfortunately, it wasn't too long before she was woken up.

"Um…excuse me, Miss, what exactly are you doing here?"

She mentally shook off the offending voice, trying to gain back a few precious hours of sleep. Perhaps if she ignored it, it would go away.

Only, it didn't. It persisted, and seemed to have invited over a friend. Another man said to the first, "I don't think that she's awake. Perhaps we should nudge her?"

"Now, now, Andre, that would be rude."

The girl decided that the voices weren't going to go away. She opened her eyes to find two somewhat fussy seeming men staring over her. They seemed to be debating what to do with her. She decided to take matters into her own hands. "Um, excuse me?" The two men stared, only just made aware that she had woken up by the sound of her voice. She continued, "um…this may sound odd, but could you please tell me where I am?" The two men didn't seem to hear her, they had begun to discuss amongst themselves again, very audibly talking about her as if she were a dead skunk that had appeared in the building. "This simply won't do, rehearsal is going to start soon…"

_Rehearsal_. The word landed on her ears like a bow on a violin. The harmonies started coming together in her head. She stood up. "Excuse me?" The two men continued to talk amongst themselves. Now she was just getting annoyed. She spoke again, this time in a half-song that she knew they would not be able to ignore. "Excuse me, but is this perhaps an opera house?"

The two men looked over at her. "…Yes" one of the men responded. "Yes, Firmin and I run this opera."

"And you are casting for a new show, yes?"

"Why, of course."

The girl smiled. So far, so good. Now came the important part. "Well, then, I would like to join the chorus." Seeing the expressions on the two men's faces, she continued in her half-song voice. "You'll find that I can sing rather well, and I won't be any trouble at all. You don't even have to pay me a full salary." The faces of the two men lit up visibly at this prospect. She quickly added, "There's one condition, though." The men frowned. She spoke before they could refuse. "I want to live in the opera house." There. To use a phrase that she hated but suspected the two men in front of her would use, that would kill two birds with one stone. She would have a job, and a place to live.

And she knew that they wouldn't be able to refuse…

"Certainly!" The man on the left, Andre, she assumed, turned to his partner. "Excellent, Firmin, now we have one more chorus member." Firmin turned to the girl with a slightly perplexed look on his face. "There's just one thing I'm wondering," he said to her. "What is your name?"

There was a barely perceptible pause, like a single but audible wrong note played in a symphony, before she responded. "Alexandra," she half-sang. "My name is Alexandra Olympia."


	2. Chapter 2

**Again, very big thanks to all of you who are reading this. Please review and tell me what you think. All reviewers will be invited to a special dinner with the Phantom in his home beneath the opera.**

Five stories beneath the opera, across the vast lake over which the opera sat, Erik paced back and forth in his study, a glass in his hand. The wine, while not viscous enough to be blood, was certainly the exact same color. He had just set down to pen a letter, and was planning out in his head what he would write.

It had been exactly one month since his Christine had run from him and married that idiotic sailor. For exactly one month the two of them had been off on a tour of Europe, sailing everywhere from London to Norway. Just the thought of it, of that sailor with his beloved Christine…the glass in his hand creaked slightly as his grip tightened. It was okay, he reminded himself. After all, Andre and Firmin had, as per his instructions, been informing Christine and that sailor that he had long since abandoned the opera, and, indeed, had been so convincing in their assurances that the mysterious Opera Ghost was no more that Christine was going to return to the opera and continue to sing on its stage.

He smiled at this thought, and took another sip of his wine.

Of course, he wouldn't try to talk to Christine right away. Even when she was back at the opera, she would be on her guard for a bit, and if he did contact her then the sailor would most likely panic and take her away, and this time no amount of persuasion would bring her back.

No, instead he would wait. After all, there was no way that Christine and the sailor could make their marriage last. Eventually, Christine would realize just what a naïve idiot the sailor was, or he would stray from her, or the two would fight. Then, when Christine was alone, when she was no longer thinking positively of her precious sailor, when she needed someone to comfort her, someone who truly cared for her, someone who could make her feel as though all was right in the world…_then_ he would sing to her.

She would be his once more.

Erik allowed his thoughts to linger on that idea before he resumed his pacing. He focused back on the matter truly at hand: Andre and Firmin. Those two were starting to really get on his nerves. He had never really liked them in the first place, and they had neglected to pay him his salary on the appointed date it was due _again_. Every month it was the same. They would "forget" to give him his pay, he would send them a letter to remind them, and then the money would finally arrive, along with a panic filled and overly obsequious apology. It was both idiotic and annoying. Really, what did those two pompous fools think? If they just ignored him long enough, maybe _this_ time when they didn't pay him his salary he would simply ignore it and go away? Perhaps he was going to have to cause a little accident on the set, a little something to remind them who was really in charge of the opera.

He would have to commend them on one thing, though. That new chorus girl they had hired was a good addition to the cast. The girl – Alexandra Olympia was her name? – certainly had a lovely voice, like one thousand doves in full song. Just earlier that day he had heard her singing an aria from the latest opera and found that he was unable to turn away and stop listening. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

Almost, he corrected himself quickly.

It was _almost_ the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

Christine was still far better.

Still, there was much about this girl that was, well, curious. No, not curious, there was much about this girl that was downright odd, even when you took into account her arrival at the opera. He didn't even want to think about that one. He had already run the questions through his mind a thousand times. How had she heard him? How had he heard her? When he heard her voice, perfectly in time and in tune to his music, it was as if she was standing right beside him. It had taken him a few minutes to realize that she was outside, and not somehow standing in his home.

But back to the oddities. First there was this matter of her _living_ in the opera house. He had nearly blown his cover, observing the conversation from an observation point up in the roof. Andre and Firmin had barely reacted when she had asked for room and board, like they didn't remember that he also lived here. Not that he really minded, though. It was nice to have her in the opera house, even if she did not know he was there. Once everyone else had gone home for the day she would sing, but not like she did when they were present. Once she thought she was alone she would sing nearly constantly, about everything and anything that came to mind. She sang about her hopes, dreams, where she was from, things that were happening in rehearsal, all the while accompanying herself on the lyre. That was the second oddity. The lyre. Talk about antiquity, who on earth played the _lyre_ anymore? Not only that, but she sang in multiple languages. So far he had heard her sing in French, English, Italian, and – the third oddity – _Ancient Greek_. That had been the weirdest thing so far. She sang each language fluently, like she had learned it from birth, but Ancient Greek seemed to be her language of choice when she was alone.

Yes, there was a lot that Erik didn't know about this Alexandra Olympia. Fortunately, he knew one sure way to figure out more about her.

Smiling, he drained his glass and began to draft the first of several letters he would write that evening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Yes, I know that **_**Rusalka**_ **premiered in 1901, but it's the opera that fits most with what I have in mind. Sorry to all those out there who are fixated on dates. A red rose tied with a black velvet ribbon from our favorite Phantom will be given to all reviewers.**

Alexandra was truly enjoying being in the opera.

The opera house itself was huge and sprawling, with all sorts of places she could explore. Many nights she would simply wander through the halls, playing her lyre and singing to her heart's content while she explored. Everyone in the cast was nice with the exception of Carlotta, who at the very least was entertaining even if her extreme arrogance did get annoying at times. Meg was especially good to hang out with. Despite her shyness, she was a very nice girl, and was always able to explain how certain things in the opera worked. This made sense; after all, she was Madame Giry's daughter. She could also help Alexandra learn all the dances in the opera. "It's easy," Meg would say to her, "it's just a simple triple pirouette with your right foot progressing from a coupé position to an ending in an arabesque."

"Easy?" Alexandra was incredulous. "If this is easy then what's hard?"

Meg just smiled and went through the turn, gliding as easily as if she were Terpsichore herself. Terpsichore had to have something invested in this girl, because she was a truly gifted dancer. Alexandra found it hard to keep up. She knew that she could sing well, but when it came to dancing she was clumsier than a newborn foal. She couldn't help feeling a bit like a duck or penguin, cursed to forever waddle beside Meg's graceful swan.

Despite her lack of dancing ability, she was adjusting well to life as a member of the chorus. Rehearsals were all running smoothly, and tonight they would open up the newest opera.

That is, if they could get Carlotta to perform.

No one was quite sure _how_ it had happened, and the set hands had sworn that nothing had been out of place, but somehow a set piece had fallen from above, missing Carlotta by a hair and causing general alarm. Some of the chorus members had even started yelling about _ghosts_ of all things, only adding to the chaos. Alexandra was skeptical. "Ghosts?" She was incredulous. "No ghost could cause set pieces to crash."

"How would you know?" Meg asked.

Alexandra sighed. Even if it was a ghost, the answer for solving the problem would be a simple one. You'd just need a small saucer of lamb's blood to attract the ghost, and then you could talk to it and figure out the problem. Then you just fix the problem and the ghost leaves. But she had never heard of a ghost haunting an opera house before. Most likely, the set piece was just loose to begin with.

Carlotta, however, did not seem quite as calm. "You see?" She shrieked, "These things just keep happening and you do nothing to stop them! Well, I've had enough of all this! There is no way that I am performing if you can not guarantee that I will not be crushed!" Alexandra started rubbing her temples. All of the shouting was starting to give her a headache. Andre and Firmin were at Carlotta's knees, begging her to reconsider, to shine for them like the goddess she was, they would give her anything just to hear her sing that night. It was really making Alexandra feel quite nauseous.

"Alexandra Olympia can sing it."

The room went silent, as everyone stared at Mme. Giry. "What did you just say?" Andre sounded scared.

Mme. Giry continued. "Let Alexandra Olympia sing the role tonight. Her voice is suited for it, and she has been well taught."

The strangest thing happened then. Andre and Firmin looked at each other and suddenly turned pale. They then looked at Mme. Giry, who looked at them silently with a gaze that said as clearly as if she had shouted it that she was not the one in charge here, but that they had better do damned well as she said or else there would be severe consequences. Firmin turned to Alexandra and, clearly frightened, asked, "Miss Olympia, do tell me, who exactly is your teacher?"

"I have none," Alexandra replied. "I never have. I just enjoy singing, that's all."

Andre and Firmin looked slightly more relieved, but only slightly. "Okay then," Andre said, "go on, show us what you can do."

After the show, Alexandra went strait back to her room. The show had gone well, but, somehow, she was feeling more nervous than she had before the show had begun. Why on earth did they have to do the opera _Rusalka_? At least when she was just a chorus member, Carlotta's pompousness could distract her from the actual plot. But now...

Her train of thought was interrupted as she entered her dressing room. "Yikes!" she shouted in surprise, "Who let Demeter loose in here?"

The dressing room was filled with nothing but flowers. Bouquet after bouquet lined the walls, each one more flamboyant and extravagant than the last. Alexandra was bewildered. Surely there was some mistake. What on earth was she going to do with all of these flowers?

Still in shock, she walked over to the vanity and sat down. She shook her head, hoping that maybe when she looked again the flowers would be gone. Finding that they weren't, she sighed in disappointment.

And then she looked down.

Sitting on the vanity, tied simply with a black velvet ribbon, was a single, dark red rose. She gasped slightly, slowly reached over and picked it up. "Oh, wow…" She turned it over in her hands, feeling heat rise to her face. She turned it over and over, looking for a name tag, a card, _anything_ to tell her who had given it to her.

It was then that she heard the door open. She quickly put the rose down, and turned to see who was visiting her.

Standing in the doorway was a tall, young man with a smile on his face and a faraway look in his eyes. He was holding the largest bouquet of pastel pink peonies and forget-me-nots that Alexandra had ever seen. He had hair that was slightly red, but also seemed to be slightly blonde, like he had spent a lot of time in the sun. His white teeth flashed as he grinned at her. He didn't seem capable of smiling; all he could do was grin. "Do you think today we will find the mermaid?"

"Ummm…" Alexandra was a bit confused. Who was this guy and why the heck was he talking about mermaids? "I'm sorry, but who exactly are you?"

The boy seemed somewhat taken aback for a moment. "Don't you remember?" he asked, bewildered, "We spent so much time together on the shores of Greece. It's me, Victor. Victor Cujo."

"Oh! Victor!" Alexandra smiled. "Of course, sorry, I remember you now. We used to pretend we were hunting for mermaids on the beaches in Greece."

The boy, Victor, grinned even wider than before. "Exactly! It's been so long since I last saw you, I almost didn't recognize you." He laughed a bit, and then continued. "But I'd recognize that voice anywhere."

Alexandra realized that the way he was staring at her was somewhat…odd. It was as if he didn't exactly see her, but rather saw something else with her appearance. "So…" something about that stare was unnerving her. "So…what exactly are you doing here?" Victor looked at her, looked at the bouquet of flowers, and blushed. "Well," he said, "I was here to see _Rusalka_ and then, well, when I saw you onstage…you were amazing. There's no other way of putting it. And you've changed so much; you're no longer the skinny girl that I played on the beach with. No, you've…well, you've really become a woman." He was blushing bright red. "And, well, in all that time we were apart, I never really did stop thinking of you. Even when I was in the Navy, I thought of you every day." He looked her in the eyes and held out the bouquet. "I'm in love with you, Alexandra. Will you marry me?"

Alexandra was stunned. Of all the possible reasons that he could have said for why he was there, this was certainly not the one that she had expected. She stuttered, struggling to think of the right words to say. "I, I'm—" she took a deep breath, calming herself down. "I'm…_honored_ that you think so highly of me, and…I thank you for your feelings but…unfortunately I can't accept them."

Victor's face fell slightly. Then it bounced back to its normal grinning self. "Oh, I get it," he said, "you don't like peonies, right? I'm sorry, I thought you'd like them, but I'll get some roses for you."

"No, Victor," Alexandra was flustered. "You don't get it. I don't like you. Well, I don't like you the way you like me." She wondered if what she was saying would penetrate. "I can't marry someone I've only known for a day."

Victor looked puzzled. "But, you've known me for more than a day. Don't you remember, we used to play on the beach—"

"Yes, but that was _over ten years ago_, Victor." Just how dense was this guy? "I was seven when I last saw you. You were eight. We only knew each other for two years. I mean, I know we were friends, but I don't think that two years when we weren't even in double digits really counts as the proper background for us to get married." Victor frowned slightly. "So you _do_ like the peonies? I'm a bit confused."

Alexandra was flabbergasted. "What in Hades' name does this have to do with _peonies_? I'm not talking about the bouquet, I'm talking about the proposal!" She let out an exasperated sigh. "Besides," she said, "it's not as if I don't have enough flowers already."

"They're all from people who admired your performance." Victor said, "They're all from people who appreciate your talent."

Alexandra glared at him. "I highly doubt that. I mean, look at these. Some of them have 'To Carlotta' written on the cards." She began walking around the room pointing out bouquets at random. "Look at this! These people know nothing about what they're saying, do they? I mean, really, hydrangeas? That's just like saying I'm a stuck up jerk. This person also put day lilies in here. That's just like calling me a coquette. And – oh, god this is disgusting."

"What is it?" Victor seemed highly confused.

Alexandra scowled. "Some bastard gave me a bouquet of lime blossoms."

"What's so wrong with that?"

"They're the botanical equivalent of saying that he wants to get in my skirt." She turned back to Victor. "None of these bouquets have any thought put into them. These people all just bought the largest, most extravagant bouquet they could find in the store without any thought as to what they might actually be saying."

Victor looked slightly frustrated. "Well, what about that one?" He pointed to the single rose on the vanity. "I mean, only one flower? I'd sure love to know who sent you that one."

"Yeah, I would to, actually. I'd really like to thank him." Seeing the look on Victor's face she picked up the rose, and continued. "You seem confused, Victor. Well, I'll explain it to you. Unlike all of the other bouquets in this room, which seem to speak of some unspoken competition between the wealthy men who attend the opera to see who can buy the lead the biggest bouquet, this single flower seems to have been given from the heart. It seems like something that the person did not necessarily bring to the opera to give to the lead, meaning that something about my actual performance moved him to get this rose to give me." She paused, contemplating the rose in her hand. "You see the color? It reflects the person's feelings. Such a deep, dark color surely reflects deep feelings from the heart. All of these other bouquets, well, each one is a garish pastel firework, as if the givers do not think that I can handle something more meaningful, something less superficial and superfluous." She turned to Victor. "Even you, Victor, are not immune from this. It seems from the bouquet in your hands that you bought a bouquet of flowers to give to Carlotta, because that's just what people are expected to do when they go to the opera. I don't deny that you may indeed feel something for me, but you must understand that, since those flowers are only being given to me because Carlotta did not perform tonight, it is rather difficult for me to believe that your feelings are truly as deep as you claim." She smiled slightly. "And so, this single, dark rose, which you would want to berate the giver for, has succeeded in moving me like none of these other, expensive bouquets have."

Victor stared at her. "So…do you want the peonies or not?"

Alexandra sighed. "Sure, Victor. I'll take the peonies. What harm can one more bouquet of flowers do." Victor grinned triumphantly. "Great! So, I'll see you tomorrow, then!" He dashed out the door, looking as though he had conquered the world.

Alexandra sat with the peonies and forget-me-nots in her hand. Then, she grabbed some yellow roses from a nearby bouquet, put them in with the peonies and forget-me-nots, gathered up as many bouquets as she could, and dashed out the door.

She encountered Meg in the hall and thrust Victor's bouquet into her arms. "Here," she said, "these are for you!"

"But," Meg was stunned. "Didn't that nice Victor boy just give these to you?"

"Please, Meg, does it really look like I need more flowers? Besides, Victor told me that he thought you were excellent, too." Meg blushed. "Really?" she asked. Alexandra nodded. "Really," she responded. "Oh, and can you take these too?" she asked, shoving the other bouquets into Meg's hands, "make sure that everyone in the cast gets at least one flower, okay?"

Meg tried her best to keep up as Alexandra dashed back into her room to grab the remaining bouquets. "But these were all meant for you! Don't you want any of them?"

"I've already taken the one I want," Alexandra said, "I don't have any more time to talk though, I've got to get these other flowers to the crew and orchestra before they all leave for the day." Alexandra grinned and ran off, but had she turned around then, she would have seen that Meg was standing in her doorway, staring at the single rose on the vanity, with a look of sheer terror on her face.


	4. Chapter 4

**As per usual, thank you to all of you out there who are reading this. Same disclaimer as last chapter about **_**Rusalka**_**. It will become more obvious later on why it fit the best for the story. Reviewers will get a lullaby sung to them by the ever-awesome Phantom.**

He hadn't meant to make her cry.

Back in his home, Erik contemplated the night's events, wondering what exactly it was that had caused her to have such a terrible nightmare. She had certainly been wonderful in _Rusalka_, enough so that he felt the rose he gave her appropriate to demonstrate his appreciation. He had been glad to see that she had liked it. It had been quite cute, too, watching her dash around the opera, making sure that every single person involved in its production got a flower. She'd seemed so happy after the show, enthusiastically telling everyone from the second lead to the least important member of the crew what a fantastic job they had done for that night's performance. With the exception of that whole altercation with that ridiculous (if somewhat familiar, though Erik couldn't quite place why) Victor character, she had smiled all the way until she went to sleep.

Only then, after she had gone to sleep, she had started screaming. It had been a shock to him, because she had seemed so happy up until that point. She had never screamed in her sleep any other night, and once she had woken from her nightmare, she had seemed, well, _unsurprised_, like she _knew_ that she was going to have that nightmare before she went to sleep. But that seemed impossible, because, if she had known that she was going to have that horrific a nightmare before she went to sleep, wouldn't she have been more upset while she was awake?

Although, he remembered, she had seemed unusually nervous before the show. She was always comfortable singing onstage, and he had never seen her show any signs of pre-show stress. Yet this time she had been fidgety, and had kept biting the second knuckle of her left index finger, a habit which he had learned fairly quickly was a sign that she was stressed.

And there was something else. When in _Rusalka_ her character was making the deal to give up her voice to be with the man she loved, there Alexandra had faltered. It was only a short pause, but she had come in slightly late, and there was a quaver in her voice that suggested that there was far more going on for her than just acting a role. It was as if the role she played was more than just acting for her, as if _it_ was the cause of her nightmare.

_I'm being silly_, Erik thought to himself, _there's no way to say for sure that playing the title role of_ Rusalka _made her have that nightmare. It could have just been a normal bad dream_. He laughed at that thought. Yeah, a normal bad dream, that was likely. She had been asleep for a few hours before she began to scream, but when she did start screaming, every cry was full of terror. She had called out to or for her mother several times, as if she were trying to warn her of something. What that something was, Erik had no idea. When he'd heard her screaming, he'd gone over to her room as quickly as possible to see what was wrong. He thought maybe someone was attacking her, from the way she was shouting. By the time that he got there, though, she had woken up, and was clearly distressed. He'd felt sorry for her, and had sung a lullaby and placed her back in her bed. By the time he left, she was fast asleep once more, and her face was more peaceful.

Erik sighed. He was still going to have to figure out a way to properly apologize to her and a way to avoid making her have this nightmare again if he wanted her cast as more lead roles. And he _did_ want to cast her as more leads, at the very least while Christine was still away. He also wanted to avoid hurting her in the process. If he could figure out how to do that, then everything would be alright.

* * *

When Alexandra awoke the next morning, she found that she was in her own bed. She sat up and looked around. It hadn't been a dream, then. Well, the nightmare had been a dream; she knew that for a fact. She'd had that nightmare several times before, and every time it left her shaking for the rest of the night. She had never before been able to get back to sleep after that nightmare.

So why had she been able to this time? She closed her eyes, and tried to remember what exactly had happened. She had a vague recollection, but wanted desperately to remember the details. _Let's see…_she thought. Yes, she had had the nightmare, and then…

Alexandra had woken up, still screaming. She'd gasped and her hand had flown to her throat. She'd felt the tears rolling down her cheeks, and her entire body had trembled with sobs. She'd known it. She'd known that this would happen. Why in Athena's name had they had to perform _Rusalka_ of all things? Why couldn't they have done anything else, a nice, cheery Gilbert and Sullivan, maybe?

Trembling, she'd slowly climbed out of her bed, and tried, in the darkness, to light a candle. She had been shaking so badly, however, that she couldn't even hold a match. The horror of her dream had overwhelmed her then. "Mama," she'd keened, and crumpled, still sobbing, into a ball on the floor.

It was then that she'd heard someone singing. Someone with a voice like a violin was singing her a lullaby, was singing her to sleep. She'd struggled to stay awake, struggled to remain awake long enough to find out who it was, but soon had succumbed to the power of the music, and had drifted off to sleep.

She vaguely remembered strong arms that carried her gently to the bed, and gentle hands that tucked her in and tenderly smoothed a lock of hair from her forehead before she was lost completely in a deep sleep, filled with nothing but the man's violin-like voice.

She got up, out of her bed, and began to prepare for the day, with one thought in mind. She had to find out who had sung her to sleep, who the man with the violin-like voice was. She needed to find him, and thank him. She'd ask around the opera that day, see if anyone else knew about the man.

This turned out to be easier said than done. Whenever she asked if someone else was living in the opera, the person she was talking to would turn pale, stutter a few words about what nonsense it would be to think there was, and then run off as fast as they could, saying they had something else to do before Alexandra could press further. It was quite ridiculous, really. All that it did was convince Alexandra that there definitely _was_ someone other than her living in the opera house, and she wanted to know more about him. Finally, she had gone to Mme. Giry and asked her. As per the other reactions, Mme. Giry had turned pale and had begun to stutter. Before she could run off, Alexandra decided to intervene. "Look," she said, "I'm tired of this frivolity. Frankly, no one in this opera is a very good liar, and every person that I've asked has been more obvious than the last that they were telling a lie. Now, please, just tell me who lives here other than me." Seeing the look on Mme. Giry's face, Alexandra added, "Look, if you don't tell me, I'm going to search every inch of this place until I find him. There's something I need to tell him, and the sooner I can do it the better." Mme. Giry looked around, and then grabbed Alexandra's arm. "Come with me," she said, "we can not speak of him in here."

Mme. Giry half led, half dragged Alexandra outside, where she cast one more worried look around her, and then whispered in Alexandra's ear. "The other person who lives here…is the Opera Ghost."

Alexandra started laughing. "A ghost? What do you take me for, a five year old? There's no ghost in the opera. And even if there was at some point it would have long since crossed the river Styx." Alexandra looked up at Mme. Giry. "Come on," she said, "tell me who it really is." But Mme. Giry shook her head and said, "You shouldn't mock him. Believe me, he exists! He is the other one living in the opera." She then hurried off, leaving Alexandra to ponder. She knew that it couldn't be a ghost, but she could tell by her voice that Mme. Giry hadn't been telling a lie. The only explanation was that someone who was known as the "Opera Ghost" was living there. Alexandra frowned. The "Opera Ghost" certainly would have to be alive and well, in order to strike such terror into the minds of the people who worked at the opera. Surely someone so influential had to make an appearance in some way, shape, or form; the only trick would be figuring out what exactly it was.

Then she remembered: the night before, during _Rusalka_, she had noticed that Box Five was empty. It had seemed strange to her, considering that Andre and Firmin had said that they had a full house, and Alexandra knew that Box Five was prime seating. Anyone with that box would have shown up.

She walked back into the opera house, and found Firmin talking to one of the crew. She waited until they were done talking, and then caught Firmin's attention. "M. Firmin?" she asked.

"Yes," Firmin replied, "what is it, Miss Olympia?"

"You know last night during _Rusalka_?"

"Oh, yes. You did a marvelous job, by the way."

Alexandra nodded. "Well, I couldn't help but notice that there was no one sitting in Box Five." Firmin turned pale. "What are you talking about?" He tried to sound calm, and managed to sound only slightly terrified. "There was someone in Box Five. There's someone in Box Five for every performance." So her suspicions were right. Now if she could just press a little farther… "M. Firmin, I know what I saw. There was no one in Box Five last night. I remember thinking that it was strange. Who had bought the tickets?"

"You're wrong, Miss Olympia. It's easy to miss faces in the crowd, with all the lights onstage. There was someone in Box Five last night. There is someone in Box Five every night—"

"Is it the same person every night?"

She had it. Firmin's face turned whiter than a sheet. "I see no point to this conversation." Firmin stammered, and went faster than one of Zeus' thunderbolts towards the managers' office. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Olympia, I have a lot of work to do."

Alexandra smiled. She had been right about Box Five. She dashed to her room, grabbed some of her money, and ran out the door.

She had some work to do before she performed again that night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks once again to all the readers. Please leave a review and tell me what you think. Reviewers will get free tickets to see an opera in Box 5 with the Phantom (and no, the Phantom will not make the chandelier crash on you).**

Alexandra made sure that she had everything ready. She was wearing a simple white nightgown with thin straps that left her shoulder blades exposed and she had tied her hair back in a French braid to keep it out of her face. She was not wearing any shoes, having found that she could actually walk more quietly without them. She lit a candle, placed it in a candle holder, grabbed her lyre, and was ready to go. She wore the key to her room around her neck, and paused only to lock her door before continuing on her walk through the opera. The opera was even more impressive at night, when the darkness made everything seem larger and more mysterious. She knew her way around, though, and soon she had reached her destination.

Box Five.

The first thing she did was check the door. Before the performance she had slipped several small feathers into the door frame. They would be unnoticeable unless you were specifically looking for them, and would fall to the floor when the door was opened. If the feathers were on the floor when she arrived, then someone really was using Box Five. If they were still in the door frame, then no one had entered Box Five for that night's performance. She hadn't seen anyone in Box Five when she had been performing onstage, but Firmin had once again insisted that someone was there.

Only, apparently Firmin had been lying to her, because the feathers were all still there, stuck in between the door and the door frame exactly as she had left them. Alexandra sighed and opened the door. If he hadn't been in Box Five, then the Ghost would not have received the gift she had left to thank him. She would have to find some other way to get in contact with him. She had thought the gift so appropriate, too. She had searched through all flowers sold in Paris, and had finally bought a single dark pink rose, a flower which she knew symbolized gratitude. She stepped into the box, and immediately froze with shock.

The flower was gone.

She blinked. How on earth could she be seeing this correctly? The feathers had been in the door, so no one could have been using Box Five. The rose should have still been on the chair exactly where she had left it.

_Unless…_she thought, _what if there's another way into the box?_ She took a quick scan of her surroundings, but didn't see another obvious door. She put down the candle on a shelf in the box, and then began tapping on walls.

She was methodical, tapping on the walls at every few feet, listening carefully for a hollow spot. Perhaps there was a secret entrance somewhere that the Opera Ghost had used. At last, she found it. It was subtle, and, indeed, whoever had designed it had to be very good at what they did, but there was a column in the back of the box that was definitely hollow. Alexandra began feeling over the column, examining every square inch. She knew that it had to open by some sort of spring mechanism. The spring that would open it had to be somewhere, but she knew, considering her luck, it could be tiny and would most assuredly be hard to find. She would have to make sure to remember where it was once she found it. At last, she felt something give under her finger.

Soundlessly, the column opened up and revealed a hidden staircase. Alexandra smiled. She went back to the shelf to grab her candle—

And it suddenly went out.

She was plunged into absolute darkness. "Damn," she said, "Hermes, this is really not the time to play tricks on me." She sighed, and grabbed her lyre. One of Apollo's gifts may have been taken from her, but she still had the other. She began to pluck the strings, methodically working her way through a complete scale, searching for the right note. At last she found it. The lyre gave out a pure note that echoed through the opera, bouncing perfectly off of every surface. The reflected sounds worked better than any candle could have to give Alexandra an idea of where she was going. Playing the note again, Alexandra walked down the revealed staircase, listening for what she could find.

She seemed to have been walking for a long time. She had gone down a grand total of five staircases, and each level had been progressively emptier and stranger. She had been playing the same note for five floors, and was frankly starting to get bored with it. She only hoped that her destination was near, so that she could figure out exactly where she was. She plucked the string again, and paused as the note came back to her. This time it had sounded different. Every other time on this floor that she had plucked the string, the echo had come back only rock and dirt. Now it came back something else. There was an echo to it, like it had traveled into a cavern. She plucked the string again. Surely it couldn't be…

"Water?"

She asked the question to the air, hearing the word echo as it bounced off the walls. She kept walking forward, and soon had to stop again. She had been right. It was water that had made the note come back to her strangely.

She was standing at the edge of a vast lake that seemed to glow with a sort of bluish light. She rubbed her eyes. For a moment she could have sworn that she saw candles floating above it, but surely that couldn't be possible, right? She furrowed her brow, and played the note in a chord, so that she would have more information. The sounds that came back told her that there was no way to walk around the lake, and no boat on this side that she could use to cross.

They also brought back sounds of things on the other side, auditory descriptions of rooms and furniture.

And the notes also brought back the description of a _person_ on the other side of the lake.

Alexandra bit her knuckle. She suspected, no, somehow she _knew_ that the person on the other side of the lake could only be the Opera Ghost, and she knew in her heart that it was he who had let her into the opera, given her the rose, and sung her to sleep when she'd had her nightmare. She _had_ to thank him, had to let him know how much all he had done meant to her.

She took her hair out of its braid, allowing the waves to tumble around her face. Unconsciously she plucked the strings of her lyre as she began to sing.

She sang in Ancient Greek, a song about freedom, about hope and love and destiny. She sang about Athena and Apollo, and about Poseidon. She sang about Zephyr, the West Wind, and about how he was always sought after. She sang about sadness and loss, and about happiness and gain.

She sang about flight.

Feathers exploded upwards as, still singing, she vaulted towards the sky.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the delay on this chapter. It's a bit of a long one. As per usual, read and review. Reviewers will get a free voice lesson with the Phantom.**

Alexandra landed on the other side of the lake and began running her fingers through her hair, combing through it over and over, trying to untangle the feathers from it. She had nearly forgotten how good it felt to fly, how natural it was for her to travel that way. She hadn't really flown for a while.

And for good reason, she reminded herself.

She looked at her surroundings. She was in the front hall of someone's home. She could see that there was a boat on this side of the lake, confirming that whoever lived here was home. She took a few steps forward, turned a corner—

And found herself face to face with the Opera Ghost himself.

Half of his face was hidden by a white mask, but it did nothing to take away from how handsome he was. And he _was_ handsome. He was tall, with obsidian hair and dark eyes. He wore a dark, tailored suit in a way that suggested it was for him as comfortable as Alexandra's white cotton dresses were for her. Her eyes traveled to his hands. His hands were truly pianist's hands: elegant, with long, slender fingers. Alexandra looked at her own hands. Hers were lyre hands, each finger calloused from plucking the strings. She quickly put them behind her back, suddenly embarrassed, although she couldn't quite say why.

The Opera Ghost was looking at her as if she was the recently departed spirit. She didn't blame him. Having someone appear randomly in a home clearly designed to be hard to reach had to be a bit surprising. "Who are you?" he asked. Alexandra recognized his voice; it was without a doubt the violin-like voice that had sung her to sleep. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm Alexandra Olympia," for reasons that escaped her, Alexandra was finding it very difficult to look him in the eye. "I'm the new chorus girl. Um…" she paused. She hadn't quite planned how she wanted to say this. "Um…I arrived in Paris a few weeks ago, at midnight. There was a really bad thunderstorm that night and I was having trouble finding shelter and…well, I think that you're the one who let me in that night."

He nodded. "Yes, I did."

Alexandra nodded. "Well, I wanted to thank you for that, first of all. If you hadn't let me in, I probably wouldn't have lasted the night." She paused, figuring out what to say next. "Um…when I performed _Rusalka_ yesterday, when Carlotta refused to sing, were you the one that gave me that rose?"

"I was."

"Well, I, it really meant a lot to me," she felt heat rising to her face. Why on earth was she blushing? "And, then, later last night, when I had my nightmare, I know that you sang me back to sleep," she was blushing furiously now. The words began to tumble out of her mouth faster than she could stop them "and, well, you see, I've had that nightmare before and every time that I've had it I haven't been able to get back to sleep no matter what I do, and you did get me back to sleep that night." She was rambling. She took a deep breath, and then continued, "And, well, I just wanted you to know how much all that you've done for me has meant to me. I wanted to thank you."

His eyes softened a bit. "You're welcome," he said, "tell me, was it you who left the rose in my Box tonight?"

Alexandra blushed again. "Yes. I did leave a rose in Box Five. A dark pink rose. It symbolizes gratitude."

There was an awkward pause, neither of them knowing quite what to say. "So…" Alexandra searched her mind for what to say. "So…I take it you're not really a ghost, then." For knowing so many languages, she was feeling awfully short on words. "What's your name?"

"Erik." He seemed to be more relaxed now. "And, no, as you have so keenly noted, I am not a ghost. I am very much alive." He frowned slightly, and then came forward and reached into her hair. Alexandra was frozen, feeling as the heat rose to her face. He soon pulled away, however, and Alexandra was frozen for a far different reason.

He was holding a feather.

He had a slightly puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the feather in his hand. In her mind, Alexandra swore in four different languages. Her thoughts began racing as she panicked. How the…? But surely she had knocked them all out, hadn't she? Stupid, how had she been so careless, so idiotic, so addlebrained; surely not even Midas had been this stupid, stupid, stupid…her train of thought was interrupted as Erik pocketed the feather, looked directly at her, and asked, "So, how exactly did you get here?"

"What are you talking about?" She half sang, desperate, all too aware of the fearful quaver in her voice, "I just used the boat."

His eyes glazed slightly, a good sign, "…the boat? Oh, okay." He paused and the mist vanished from his eyes "Wait, no…" he said, and furrowed his brow, "that doesn't make sense; you couldn't have used the boat…"

Every warning alarm that Alexandra possessed was going off in her mind. "You're mistaken." She sang fully, desperate, "It's perfectly normal that I used the boat. The boat is now on this side of the lake because I just used it. I'm sorry that I had to borrow it, but I wanted to thank you for all you had done." She crossed her fingers behind her back, praying to Athena and Apollo that he wouldn't question further.

The tension hung in the air like a guillotine hanging above Alexandra's neck; one wrong move and it would fall. There was a pause as she waited for Erik to respond, as she prayed that he would just go along with what she had sung…

Erik smiled. "Oh, right, sorry. That makes sense, you just used the boat." Alexandra breathed a sigh of relief. She mentally thanked every god that she knew, and made a mental note to find a temple soon so that she could thank them properly. She smiled. "So," she asked, "what do you do down here?"

The two talked for a long time, late into the night. Alexandra was amazed to find just how much he knew about music and about the opera itself. Erik, in turn, was pleasantly surprised by how calm and natural she was around him. His mask did not even seem to be a factor for her, a nice change from the screaming that normally took place if he showed himself at the Opera. He was truly enjoying talking to her. "Your parents must be very proud of you," he said, "performing the lead in _Rusalka_. You really did sing it very well."

The smile left her face briefly before quickly returning, although the smile was less bright, and her eyes remained sad. "I hope that my parents are proud of me," she said quietly, "whether they're in the Elysium or with the Furies, I hope that they're watching me and are proud of what I'm doing." Seeing the look on Erik's face, she added, "My parents both died when I was little."

"Oh," Erik was suddenly sorry that he had asked. He knew what it was like to lose family, albeit for a different reason. "I'm sorry," he said.

She shook her head. "It's okay," she said, "I had only just been born when my dad died, so I don't remember him at all. My mom died shortly after that, so I only really have one memory of her." She paused, and then continued. "I've been told that I resemble her."

Erik wanted to say something; she looked so sad. Unsure of what to do, he put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure that, wherever they are, they're watching over you and are proud of everything that you have accomplished." She looked at him and smiled. "Thank you," she said, "that really means a lot to me."

There was a pause that neither wanted to spoil with talk. As they sat in the silence the church bells rang twelve times. "My goodness," Alexandra sang, "is it really midnight? I probably ought to get back to my room to sleep. I'm sorry that I have to rush out."

"It's no problem. It was really great to talk to you." He smiled. "We should meet again some time."

Alexandra nodded. "Sure," she grinned. "I mean, we live in the same place; it shouldn't be too hard to meet up sometime. How about tomorrow after the show?"

"Sure thing," he said, smiling, "I can't wait."

She nodded and turned to go, and then turned back around. "Uh…Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Could I maybe get a ride back across the lake?"

***

Drifting back across the lake in the boat, Erik and Alexandra continued to talk about whatever came to mind. It was nice, they had both decided, finding an unexpected friend living right next door, or in this case right in the same building.

Alexandra leaned over the side of the boat, letting her fingers skim across the surface of the lake. She closed her eyes, feeling the cool water.

As she did, Erik couldn't help but notice the twin scars on her exposed shoulder blades. Small lines so thin that they were nearly invisible traced both shoulder blades. On closer inspection the lines seemed to be made of many smaller lines, almost like feathers, that branched off ever so slightly, causing the main lines to be a little fuzzy.

Meanwhile, almost unconscious of her actions, Alexandra began to sing. She was singing the Song to the Moon from _Rusalka_. She reached one of the high notes, and Erik found the words coming out of his mouth before he even realized it. "You should land on top of the notes."

Alexandra jolted, as if she hadn't remembered for a moment that he was there. "What?"

He had already said it so he might as well just go along with it. "Right now, when you sing a high note, it's as if you are coming up from under it," he explained. "What you should try to do is imagine that you are landing on top of the note. It's just a small thing that will make the song sound a bit better."

"Oh." Alexandra sang the last phrase again, following his instruction. "Like that?"

Erik nodded. "Exactly," he said, "much better."

They landed on the other side of the lake. "Well," Alexandra said, "thank you, again, for everything. It really meant a lot to me." She smiled. "And it's nice to know that I have a friend I can talk to when everyone else has gone home." Erik smiled. "Likewise," he said, "it is nice to have someone to talk to."

"So, I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"After the show."

Alexandra nodded and dashed back to her room, feeling lighter than air and more joyous than a satyr. As soon as she reached her room, she began to practice the songs from the opera, making sure to land on top of each and every note.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the wait on this chapter. Thank you once more to all those who are still reading this. Please review and let me know what you think.**

It was only once Erik had arrived back in his home on the other side of the lake that it occurred to him that it was physically impossible for the boat to be on one side of the lake while he was on the other.

He swore. How had he not realized that before? Wait, he _had_ realized that before. She had been standing right in front of him and he had asked her how she had managed to get across. He had been looking right at her when she sang—

When she _sang_. That was it. He didn't know how, but somehow the fact that she had _sung_ the answer made a difference, made him not realize right away that she was lying. In a way, it made sense. It had not escaped his notice that often times she would half-sing when she was talking to someone. Reflecting on it now, Erik realized that he had heard her half-sing when she was asking a question, avoiding answering a question, or trying to get someone to do what she wanted them to. It was as if singing gave her a power over others and allowed her to control them.

It was as if…

_No._ Erik laughed as he realized the ridiculousness of what he had been about to think. It was impossible. They only existed in ancient myth.

And yet…

And yet the only time that she had seemed frightened was when he had pulled the feather from her hair. He reached into his pocket and pulled the feather out. It was a down feather, but softer than any down he had ever felt before. It was the same silver-blue of her hair, with threads of ivory scattered inside.

It was the ivory that had caught his attention against the silver sky of her hair. He turned it in his hand, thinking. If she really _was_ one of them, then the feather would make sense. It would also make sense that she could control people with her voice.

But surely they were just a myth, right?

He placed the feather on his desk. He was going to have to ask her about it tomorrow night after the performance. He would have to resolve this little issue if they were to continue visiting each other.

***

Or at least, that was his plan.

What actually happened was that as he was walking down the hallway towards her dressing room to visit her, she suddenly turned the corner and nearly ran into him. "Thank goodness!" Alexandra exclaimed, clearly flustered, "You have to help me!"

"What's the problem?" Erik wondered what could possibly have happened in the short time since the show had ended to make her so nervous.

"It's Victor," she explained, "He's coming to see me. You have to help me hide before he gets here."

"You've dealt with Victor before. Surely you can just turn him away—"

"Erik, he brought his _parents_ to the show."

"Oh." Erik suddenly understood. "Does that idiot still think—"

"Yes. He probably brought his parents to introduce them to his _fiancé_." She shuddered at the thought. "Really, that boy has zero understanding of the word no." She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "So, will you help me?"

An idea suddenly entered Erik's head. "Sure, I'll help you," he said, "on one condition."

"Yes, anything!"

"Tell me how you got across the lake last night."

Alexandra stopped as if she had just hit a wall. "What?" Her voice was almost a squeak.

"Tell me how you got to my house last night."

"I—I told you, I just used the boat—"

Erik shook his head. "No, I mean how you **really** got to my house last night. None of this 'I used the boat' nonsense. You and I both know it's not true." Alexandra started to open her mouth. Erik quickly cut in, "And don't try to sing your way out of this one." Seeing her shocked expression, he added, "Yeah, I'm onto that little singing trick you use. Believe it or not, I've actually used it myself a few times in the past. You are, I will admit, far better at it than I am, however, which is probably why I didn't realize what you were doing sooner."

Alexandra was frozen. Her mind didn't seem to be able to process what was happening. What did he know? How had he broken the charm? The song should have kept him from thinking much more about the issue. She struggled to make her mouth move. "I, I can't tell you that. I really can't." She thought that her heart might pound out of her chest. "Please, I really can't tell you."

Erik shrugged. "Good luck with your fiancé, then."

"You wouldn't!" Alexandra was shocked. Erik started to walk back down the hallway, counting to himself as he did. One, two, three…

"Wait!" Right on cue, Alexandra grabbed his arm, her eyes wide, "okay, I'll, I'll tell you, just help me hide!"

Erik smiled. "Let's go to my house. There's no way that idiot will be able to find you there. And you can show me how you got across the lake."

"Is it okay if I tell you once we're across?" Alexandra was clearly nervous.

"Sure," Erik responded, "I don't see why not." He chuckled, "I guess this time you really will take the boat across the lake." Alexandra shot him a murderous glare.

***

A few minutes later they were both standing in Erik's home, five stories beneath the opera. "So," Erik said, "tell me how you got across the lake."

Alexandra was biting the second knuckle on her left index finger. She had been biting that knuckle the entire boat ride across. She turned to him and said, pleading, "Are you sure that you can't just accept that I used the boat?" Erik shook his head. "That answer just isn't going to work. Once you've realized that it's a lie, you can't go on believing it."

"Okay." Alexandra looked worried, "but, you can't tell anyone, and I mean anyone, what I'm about to show you. I mean, if people found out…just please, please promise me that you won't tell anyone." Erik nodded. "I promise. Whatever you're secret is, I'm not going to tell it to anyone."

Alexandra nodded. "Okay, then." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to sing. She was singing in Ancient Greek, the same song that she had sung the night before, and to the same effect. She only opened her eyes once the song was done.

Erik was stunned with disbelief. Alexandra had sung that song and had _changed_. There was an explosion of silver-blue and ivory feathers. There were feathers scattered in her silver hair, like so many ivory stars. Feathers had also exploded in two massive arcs from her shoulder blades, forming a very large pair of silver and ivory wings. At last his brain regained the ability to form words, although he still was unable to think of what exactly he wanted to say. "You…you're…"

She looked up at him, tears forming in her storm-colored eyes. "That's right." Every word that she spoke came out in the form of a song. "I'm…not exactly a full human." She sounded sorrowful as she sang. "And, Alexandra Olympia isn't my real name." She looked directly in his eyes. "My birth name is Thelxinoё, and…my mother was a siren."


	8. Chapter 8

**I am truly sorry for the wait on this chapter. I've been extraordinarily busy, and was unable to update for some time. I have a few surprises planned for the very near future that I intend to post as a way to apologize for the multi-month delay, and hopefully you readers out there will enjoy them. For now, however, please read and enjoy. All reviewers will be able to have the Phantom help them, ahem, "take care of" any unwanted attention they may be receiving.**

"A siren?"

Alexandra – or Thelxinoë, rather – nodded. "Yes," she stared down at the floor, fiddling with her hands. "On my mother's side. My father was a human, a sailor in fact, but my mother was a siren." She bit her lower lip, and continued. "Are you angry with me? I mean, I understand if you are, I really do, I mean, after all—"

"Why on earth would I be angry with you?"

Thelxinoë looked up with a strange look of surprise on her face. "You're not angry?" She sang it as if it were the last thing she would have ever expected, like she didn't really believe it could be true. Erik nodded. "Of course I'm not angry with you. I mean, why would I be?" He shrugged. "Frankly, it explains far more than it doesn't."

And in truth, it did explain a lot. It explained why she would sing to get people to do what she wanted them to. It explained her wings, it explained her arrival at the opera—it even explained her knowledge of Ancient Greek.

It also explained the shy, secretive aspects of her nature. She had to have been keeping her secret a long, long time, and she had to have been keeping it with every fiber of her being. Erik reflected that she must have trusted him a lot in order to tell him at all, however unwillingly. It would be almost as vital and unbelievable to her as it would be to him if he showed her what was under his mask and—

_No_. He shook the thought violently from his head before it could even materialize. No matter what happened, he knew that he could _never_, under any circumstances, make that mistake again. _Never_. It was his hideousness, after all, that compelled his beautiful, perfect Christine to flee from him, his horrific ugliness that made her shudder in his presence.

No, he would never let anyone see underneath his mask again.

But, bringing his thoughts back to the matter at hand, he looked again at Thelxinoë as she stared at him, her eyes full of a strange wonder. He knew that he had to say something. "So…" he searched his mind for a topic, "…what exactly are you going to do about Victor?"

Thelxinoë groaned and curled up in frustration. "What can I do?" She was exasperated beyond belief. "Nothing penetrates that idiot's head! I can't say no because all that he hears is yes. He's the most utterly, moronically, and hopelessly naive person I've ever met."

"I've met worse." Erik shook the image of the sailor that had stolen his Christine from his head and crouched down beside Thelxinoë. "Can't you just sing something to him? I mean, if you're a siren…"

Thelxinoë shook her head. "I couldn't, singing him to his doom would be like…like kicking a puppy or something." She blushed. "Besides, I've…well, I've never actually sung someone to their doom before." Seeing his slightly puzzled expression she laughed slightly. "I know, I'm sort of a failure as a siren." She stopped laughing and looked back at the floor. "Singing people to their doom…well, it's not something I've ever been willing to try. Surely you can understand…"

Erik shook his head. "You don't have to kill him if you don't want to, although it would be the simplest way to take care of things," Seeing the shocked look on her face he quickly added, "not that I'd necessarily suggest killing him. It would be rather messy, and would require taking care of witnesses and such. No, what I mean is why not sing to him the way you sang to Andre and Firmin, the way you tried to sing to me, to convince him that he's not in love with you?"

Thelxinoë looked at him with a puzzled expression. "I don't know…I think that he's really in love with me. At the very least he's infatuated. I don't think that I could just convince him he's not in love, at most I think I could convince him he's in love with someone else. I don't—"

Erik shook his head and smiled. "Leave the details to me."

***

Victor Cujo was wandering though the halls, as happy as can be. He was searching for Alexandra. He had brought his parents to the opera just so they could see her again. They only vaguely remembered her from their days on the beach, but they were very excited to meet her again now that she was his fiancée. He was about to check her dressing room when he heard a man's voice from behind him. "You forgot your bouquet of flowers back in the front hall."

"Oh, thanks!" He turned around, but he didn't see anyone behind him. This didn't bother him, though, because he was already smiling and walking happily back towards the front hall to get the flowers and find his future bride.

Meanwhile, Meg Giry was leaving her dressing room, ready to return home with her mother after another long day at the opera. She was just locking her door when Alexandra appeared behind her. "Hello, Meg."

"Hello, Alexandra," Meg smiled at her, "have you been having a good day?"

Thelxinoë nodded. "I have, thank you. What about you?" Meg nodded, and Thelxinoë continued, "I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Sure, what is it?"

Thelxinoë bit her knuckle. "Well, I think that I left my scarf in the front hall, but I need to go clean up the flowers in my dressing room. Do you think you could…?" Meg nodded and smiled. "Sure," she said, "I'll be right back." She turned and began to walk towards the front hall to retrieve Alexandra's scarf.

In the front hall, Victor had just found the bouquet of flowers that he had apparently brought to give to Alexandra. He didn't really remember _bringing_ the flowers to the opera, but that wasn't important. The bouquet was large, with a mixture of bright pink peonies, forget-me-nots, and beautiful yellow roses.

The composition of the bouquet was no coincidence. Yellow roses only denoted friendship, but Thelxinoë knew that they happened to be the first of Meg Giry's three favorite flowers. In second and third place were pink peonies and forget-me-nots, respectively.

Thelxinoë was currently standing in her siren form in a secret observation room that Erik had shown her, near where Victor was standing. Erik was next to her, ready to give her the cue to start singing. As soon as Meg entered the front hall, Erik whispered in Thelxinoë's ear, "It's time." Thelxinoë took a nervous breath, and began to sing in a low whisper at a volume and pitch she had calculated so that only Erik and Victor would be able to hear it, while only Victor would be affected by it.

"Isn't she pretty?" Victor straightened up and looked around, perplexed by the voice in his ear. Thelxinoë continued. "She's so much prettier than that other girl—what was her name again?—I can't even remember, this girl is so beautiful." She took a breath and continued, "I think her name is Meg Giry. Such a pretty name, and she dances like an angel. I remember the way that she danced onstage tonight. She was so beautiful doing the ballet in the third act of the performance." Victor had a faraway look in his eyes, definitely a good sign. "I ought to give these flowers to her, I mean, she's so beautiful, really a woman, and she was so amazing in tonight's performance." She paused for a moment, and then added, "I ought to introduce her to my parents too, my beautiful Meg Giry." Victor started walking purposefully towards Meg. "Miss Giry!" he called to her. She looked at him in surprise, her eyes widening even more as he handed her the large bouquet. "V-Victor? I mean, M. Cujo?"

"Please, call me Victor." Victor was grinning widely. "Meg, I want you to meet my parents." He held her hand and began half-walking, half-pulling her towards the door, Meg blushing furiously all the while.

Back in the secret observation point, Thelxinoë was trying desperately to keep her laughter under control, and failing miserably at it. "Oh my gosh, that was too perfect, you have no idea," she wiped tears from her eyes as Erik laughed with her. "That was really, really just too perfect." She looked up at him and smiled more brightly and happily, it seemed, than she ever had before. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you to everyone out there reading this. Reviewers will be invited to attend next chapter's masquerade!**

Everything and nothing changed once Erik knew Thelxinoë's secret.

They still saw each other after each performance. They still talked about the cast, laughed at Andre and Firmin's ridiculousness, mocked Carlotta's pompousness, and discussed what shows it would be good for the opera to perform next. They still walked the streets of Paris together at night, Erik showing Thelxinoë all the sights, helping her find her way around her new home. Erik still gave Thelxinoë advice on her singing; little things that would make a slight but certainly present improvement to her voice.

The difference was Erik now called Thelxinoë by her actual name.

For the sake of security, he only called her Thelxinoë when they were alone, and called her Alexandra when others were present. Even so, it was enough for Thelxinoë. She hadn't realized before just how much she missed having someone call her by her actual name. Now, she didn't know how she had ever fared without that.

One night, a few weeks after Thelxinoë's confession, the two of them were sitting together on the roof of the opera house, both seated at the base of the statue of Apollo. They had been talking for a while, and the sky was filled with bright stars. Thelxinoë knew a surprising amount about the constellations, and the two had been talking about the stars for a few hours.

"So…" Erik paused for a moment, knowing what he wanted to say, but unsure of whether or not she would respond well to it, "So how exactly as a siren would you go about singing a sailor to his doom?"

To his surprise, Thelxinoë began to laugh. "What," she responded, "any sailor?" She grinned at Erik. "Or is there a specific target?"

A momentary image of a tall, young man with somewhat curly light brown hair and a ridiculous smile plastered onto his stupid face flashed in Erik's head. "You could say I have someone in mind," he responded.

Thelxinoë laughed, nodded, and, still smiling, closed her eyes. "Well," she said, "the first thing I'd do is listen."

"Listen?"

"Yes," Thelxinoë nodded. "Listening is the most important part. There are certain things you need to find out. What language they speak on the ship, for example. I mean, it would do no good whatsoever if I started singing in French and the sailors on the ship only understood Italian."

Erik nodded. That made sense. "Alright, so first you'd listen. Then what?"

"I'd listen, and then…" Thelxinoë paused for a moment, thinking, "…then, it's just a matter of whether you want the job to be neat or sloppy."

Erik leaned closer. This was not exactly what he'd expected. Neat? Sloppy? "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, there are different ways one could go about doing this, depending on whether or not you care if other sailors die as well." She leaned back on her hands, looking up at the stars. "If you're satisfied with the job being sloppy, then you just distract the entire ship. The waters around Anthemoessa are not exactly smooth sailing. It's really not a good idea to get distracted there." She looked back at Erik. "It's all too easy for a distracted ship to sink in those waters." She cast her gaze back at the stars. "But…if you want the job to be neat, if you want to only kill that one person, then the job is more interesting." She paused for a moment, and then added, "Apparently it's more fun, too." Seeing Erik's puzzled and surprised expression, she quickly added, "At least, that's what my aunt told me."

"Your aunt?" Erik gave her a curious smile. "Thelxinoë, I've never heard you mention any extended family before."

"Well, I haven't seen her for a while." Thelxinoë blushed and looked down. "My Aunt Parthenope…she's only one of my aunts. I have several." She began to fiddle with her hands in her lap. "Aunt Parthenope's the only one who really accepted the fact that my mom and dad fell in love, I think. I stayed on Anthemoessa for a while, but…well, none of my other aunts seemed to like me very much." She paused again for a moment, and then looked at Erik with a curious question in her eyes. "Erik, what was your family like? Who were your parents?"

"I was never really close to my family." Erik wanted to get off of this topic, and fast. "My father was a master mason, but he vanished before I was born." He shrugged. "My mother and I were never that close."

"Damn." Thelxinoë muttered under her breath. "I could have sworn–"

"Hm? What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing!" Thelxinoë blushed and blustered. "Anyway, where was I? Oh, that's right, just killing one sailor." She took a quick breath and composed herself. "But…yes, that's where listening really comes in handy. If you can find something about the sailor you're targeting that the other sailors don't like, you can really easily get them to throw him overboard. Then, the blood's on their hands, not yours." She paused again, then added, "My Aunt Parthenope once told me that she got a group of sailors to throw someone overboard because he bit his nails."

"What?"

Thelxinoë laughed. "Yes, I know, I was surprised too when I first heard it. Apparently she made it sound like he was a cannibal."

For what was quite possibly the first time in his life, Erik was unable to fully imagine what that piece of music would sound like. _"He bites his nails…"_ Somehow, he couldn't quite put it into a song. He shook his head and smiled. Sirens truly were interesting creatures.

But that wasn't how he thought of Thelxinoë; she wasn't simply a siren to him. He knew that she was half Siren by birth, but that didn't really impact anything. She was still Thelxinoë: silver hair, storm cloud eyes, clear soprano voice, white cotton dresses, fluency in four languages, a golden lyre, large silver wings starred and feathered with ivory. No more, no less.

He looked up at the statue of Apollo. It had never occurred to him that any sort of God could exist, but he supposed that perhaps there was more truth to the myths than he had realized before, considering that sirens were real.

Thelxinoë was humming a soft tune as she looked up at the stars. It was a song that Erik had never heard before. "What song is that?"

"Hm?" She stopped humming for a moment. "I actually don't know what it's called. It's just a song that I know somehow. I'm not even sure where I heard it. I'm sorry." Erik nodded. "That's okay," he said, "it's a lovely song, that's all."

Thelxinoë giggled. "Thanks." She smiled, her musical voice bubbling in delight. She laughed softly, then spoke again. "Erik, what do you know about Christine Daae?"

The question hit him like a bullet to the chest. For a moment, Erik felt as if his heart had stopped beating. "What have you heard?" His heart still frozen, he waited for the guillotine of her response to drop.

If he was behaving strangely, however, Thelxinoë did not seem to notice. She merely shrugged and responded, "Not a lot, really. I know that Carlotta detests her, that she has a lovely soprano voice, that she's very pretty, that she's only recently become married to some Viscount de Chagney character, and that she's returning to the opera soon. Other than that, I don't really know anything about her. No one in the cast seems to want to talk about her much." Erik didn't respond. He didn't know how. How much could he tell her? How much would she accept? Thelxinoë looked up at him and gently tapped his shoulder. "…Erik? Are you alright? Is something wrong?"

"…She was…beautiful." At last Erik was able to find his words, even if he could not bring himself to look Thelxinoë in the face lest she discern what he was feeling. "She was beautiful, and perfect, with the most angelic voice of anyone on this earth. She was gentle and kind, and she was good friends with everyone in the cast and crew." He paused. "Well, almost everyone."

"Who didn't like her?"

"Well…Carlotta for starters. I never really met her." Erik didn't like lying to Thelxinoë, but he also didn't know what she would think of him if he told her the truth. "I only ever saw and heard her from a distance. I'm sorry; I guess I'm not much help." Thelxinoë shook her head. "It's okay," she responded, "I guess I'll just have to meet her myself at the masquerade next week."

That was unexpected. Erik looked at her sharply. "A masquerade?"

Thelxinoë nodded. "Andre and Firmin are holding it to welcome her back to the opera. Everyone will be there. There's a lot of talk in the cast about who will be attending with whom."

Erik made a mental note to write to Andre and Firmin later. "Who are you going to go with?"

"Ah, yes, I actually wanted to talk to you about that." She was blushing furiously. Her eyes pointed towards the ground as she twisted her hands in her lap. "I don't really know anyone outside the opera, and I don't really think there's anyone in the cast I could ask to attend with me." She looked back at Erik, blushing even more. "Erik, you…you're the closest friend that I have here in Paris, you're the only one who knows what I really am, and, I was wondering if, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, if…if maybe you would be willing to go to the masquerade with me?"

Erik was faced with a dilemma. It had not been his initial plan to attend Christine's return; he'd planned on merely watching it from one of the many secret rooms in the opera. If Christine saw him right away, she'd run for sure. But on the other hand…there was something about the way that Thelxinoë asked…she was a good friend, and it _was_ a masquerade…

Erik smiled. "Of course I'll go to the masquerade with you, Thelxinoë."

She started. "You will?" Erik nodded. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."


	10. Chapter 10

**Wow! It's hard to believe that there have already been nine chapters before this! Once again, thank you to everyone out there that's reading this. This chapter picks up the pace of the action a little bit. Please read, review, and enjoy.**

In their infinite wisdom, Andre and Firmin had chosen the single most tasteless and inappropriate way to welcome Christine Daae back to the opera: a masquerade.

A masquerade also happened to be the single easiest event for Erik to attend and see his beloved Christine unnoticed.

These two things, however, were entirely coincidental.

The masquerade, a swirling vortex of colors and sounds, was certainly grand. The flickering candlelight cast shivering prisms through the extravagant crystal chandelier, infinite numbers of small rainbows dancing across the floor and skirting across the faces of the attendees as they chattered and laughed.

Erik, dressed once again as Red Death, made his way across the floor to where Thelxinoë and he had agreed to meet. Despite wearing the same costume he had worn to the last masquerade he had attended—and a wonderful success _that_ had been—he was able to walk fairly unnoticed through the sea of masks and costumes.

Andre and Firmin were dressed, surprise, surprise, as skeletons. Erik thought that it suited their personalities both poorly and perfectly, because it was clear that the two of them certainly lacked a skeleton's backbone, but it was equally clear that they lacked any real meat or substance. Carlotta was dressed in a garish and headache-inducing monstrosity of feathers, jewels, petticoats, lace, satin, and blindingly saturated colors. Erik's best guesses as to what she was supposed to be were a walking paint-shop explosion, one of her own horribly off-key songs, or, and this seemed to him the most likely, simply herself.

The two "cutest" couples on the floor by far were Meg Giry and Victor Cujo, who, in their matching princess and prince outfits, were nauseatingly adorable, and Christine Daae and Raoul de Chagney, wearing all white and all black respectively with matching white and black domino masks, who were, for Erik, simply nauseating. Why and how Christine could stand that idiot still astounded Erik, and he had to keep himself from attempting to throw a Punjab lasso around Raoul de Chagney's stupid skinny neck as he quickly walked past them, trying desperately not to think about the fact that they were currently sharing a quick little kiss. He couldn't afford to have Christine see him tonight.

When he had asked Thelxinoë what she was going to be wearing at the masquerade, she had laughed and refused to tell him. "Don't worry; I know that you'll be able to find me," she'd said with a somewhat sheepish grin, "it's difficult for me to fully conceal myself, what with my unusual hair color."

True to Thelxinoë's word, Erik was easily able to discern her location in the room, and began to walk towards her. She was wearing a white cotton shift that gracefully draped from her shoulders to the floor. Her silver-blue hair was in an elaborate yet loose and carefree bun, tied back and wrapped with what appeared to be a sort of golden laurel. This same kind of laurel was wrapped around her left arm, and was also used as a belt slug at an angle across her hips. She had also attached her lyre to her belt with another, shorter length of laurel. She was wearing a pair of simple, wrap-around sandals. Her mask was, at first glance, a simple white domino, but on closer inspection Erik realized that the mask was actually made of dozens of her own silver-ivory feathers. The effect of this in the candlelight was to make Thelxinoë appear as if she were surrounded by a golden glow. She smiled and casually waved at him when she saw him coming.

"Hello, Erik," she sounded happy and bright, "or, Red Death, rather. Are you enjoying the masquerade so far?"

Erik nodded. "It has been enjoyable up to this point. How about for yourself? I see that you chose to come as one of the nine muses."

"Yes, exactly. I'm Euterpe, the Muse of music." She smiled up at him. "You're the first person so far who has recognized what I'm supposed to be. It's surprising, really; I thought that I had matched her appearance fairly well." Erik shook his head. "Not very many people know Greek mythology as well as you, Alexandra." He realized that the bulk of the crowd was making its way onto the dance floor, and that he would have to as well if he were to avoid Christine's detection. He took Thelxinoë's hand and started to lead her towards the dance floor, only to find that she did not seem inclined to move.

"Hm?" Erik looked back at Thelxinoë. "Alexandra, is something wrong?" She was looking down at the floor.

"I can't dance."

"What?"

"I said, I can't dance."

"I know what you said, but I don't understand you. Of course you can dance."

"No, Erik, I really can't dance." She was blushing furiously. "You've seen me during rehearsals; I can't—"

"This isn't ballet, Alexandra, it's just a simple waltz." He was almost chuckling as he pulled her onto the dance floor. "Here, I'll teach you."

"But, but, I can't, I'll trip, I'll—"

Erik shook his head. "Alexandra, don't worry. It's really quite easy. Just follow my footsteps."

The two of them danced waltz after waltz, song after song, Thelxinoë slowly becoming accustomed to following the rhythm, Erik slyly keeping them in the midst of a large crowd and safely out of his beloved Christine's gaze. Thelxinoë grew more relaxed with each song until she found herself laughing with Erik as the two of them danced. She truly did not think she had ever been so happy. Erik too, despite his worries about being seen by Christine, was enjoying himself far more than he'd initially thought he would. Dancing with Thelxinoë, something so simple on its surface, actually allowed him to cast aside his worries for the time being, something he was rarely able to do.

Without warning, Thelxinoë suddenly stumbled and stopped moving in the middle of the dance. She was about to fall over when Erik caught her. He laughed. "What happened, Alexandra? You were doing so well up until now."

It was then that he realized that Thelxinoë was shaking. "Alexandra…?" She was nonresponsive as he pulled her up onto her feet. This was serious. "Alexandra, what's wrong? Alexandra?"

Thelxinoë's eyes were wide with fear and her hands were clenched in tight fists on Erik's sleeves. "No, no," her trembling voice was so quiet it was barely a whisper in Erik's ear, "no, not him, not here, it can't be him…"

"Alexandra?" This was unlike anything that Erik had ever seen Thelxinoë do before. Even when she'd had her nightmare, even then she had not seemed this truly petrified. He had to get her out of this. "Thelxinoë," he whispered it to her, careful to make sure that no one else around could hear. "Thelxinoë, what's wrong? Who is he? Where is he?"

The sound of her real name seemed to have an affect on her. With a trembling hand, she pointed towards the nearest corner of the room. "…there. He's right there."

Erik cast a glance over to where she was pointing, and, through the sea of masks and costumes saw someone in the crowd he had never seen in the opera before. He was tall with golden hair, brilliantly blue eyes, and somewhat feline facial structure. Erik could tell in one glance that he was the other type of sailor: not the naïve, idiot one who had guarded the ship too many times, but rather the one with a girlfriend at every port, the one who frequented the shore to visit the shadier parts of town and the women therein.

Erik could also tell that this man was looking directly at Thelxinoë, and was even now beginning to walk towards her.

Thelxinoë saw this too. She gasped and looked back at Erik, her eyes wide with fear. "No, no! He can't find me now! Not now!" She began looking around for a way to escape.

Unfortunately, her behavior had started to attract the attention of some of the members of the crowd.

Erik was faced with a dilemma. He knew that Thelxinoë did not do something unless she felt it truly necessary. Therefore, and judging by her reaction to the arrival of this strange man, her life was truly in danger. In order to protect her, he would have to get her out of the room as quickly as possible and take her to a place that no one could find her. However, it would be impossible with the way she was behaving for the two of them to leave the room completely unnoticed, and therefore it would be impossible to use any of the secret doors in the room. They would have to leave the room to go anywhere, and doing so would mean walking directly in front of Christine, who was standing with Raoul just beside the door they would have to take.

_Merde!_

Grabbing Thelxinoë's hand, Erik ran with her to the door, passing through it and praying that Christine wouldn't see him.

* * *

Matteo Rossini followed Thelxinoë out the door, passing the kissing couple on his way out. So, the little monster had a protector now? No doubt she was using some sort of spell on him. After all, who would knowingly help a monster like that?

It was no surprise to him that he'd found her in another opera house. It only made sense; after all, it was a perfect way for her to enchant as many people as possible. She could cast her evil spells and make a hefty profit as well.

Matteo smiled and began to run down the hall after her. He'd soon put a stop to all of that.

* * *

The blonde stranger had begun to run after them.

Erik cursed under his breath and planned out his next move. Unfortunately, they way things were currently going, the stranger was going to catch up to them before they could get to Box Five. He didn't want to use a secret passage in the hallway itself, as it would simply enable the stranger to use the same path they had.

There was one possibility, although it was one Erik had wanted to avoid. Christine's old dressing room was nearby. If he and Thelxinoë could get in there and lock the door, then he'd be able to get Thelxinoë to safety before the stranger could follow them. Erik cursed again. He hadn't wanted Thelxinoë to know anything about his relationship with Christine. After all, there was no telling what she would think of him afterwards. But, the stranger was getting closer to Thelxinoë with every step, so there was no other alternative.

"Are we going to Box Five?" Thelxinoë asked as she ran. "No," Erik responded, "there's a faster way to get there. Quickly, in here!" Erik let Thelxinoë run ahead of him into Christine's dressing room. Once they were both inside, he shut the door behind them and locked it with his master key.

Thelxinoë had started to recover a bit from her shock, and was looking around the room. "But this is…"

Something slammed against the door. Thelxinoë screamed and curled into a ball. Erik knew he had to act fast. "Quickly, Thelxinoë, we don't have much time." Erik jumped up onto the vanity and opened the mirror, pressing the spot that would activate the spring mechanism, causing the mirror to swing backwards and reveal one of his many secret passages. "I promise I'll explain everything to you later. For now, follow me."

There was another bang on the door as Thelxinoë ran into the passage. As soon as she had gone through, Erik closed the passage and ran to catch up with her.

A split second later the lock on the door gave way to the force of the blows. Matteo Rossini rushed into the room that he had seen Thelxinoë and her latest victim run into, and swore with every curse he had learned in the Navy.

The room was empty.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you to everyone reading this story. Please review and let me know what you think.**

Matteo Rossini walked back down the hall towards the ballroom, his mind racing. Just how had she disappeared? From his research, her kind couldn't simply vanish into thin air, and there was the matter of the human she was with. If he was a human, that is. She could have always called on another demon to help her out, but even that help would be fickle. He didn't know of any creature that could truly swear allegiance to a siren like her.

Matteo smiled. The little fiend had escaped him for now, but she couldn't run forever.

Returning to the masquerade, Matteo looked around at all the people in costumes. He scowled. _The fools_, he thought, _dressing up like monsters, _admiring _them, even, not knowing that a real monster lies in their midst_. He sighed. He had been like that once, back when he had first met Thelxinoë, before he found out what she really was. He found a place to sit, sat down, closed his eyes, and began to remember.

It had been about one year ago when he had first met her. He had been soft, naïve even, and she had seemed beautiful to him. He was a sailor, back at port for a few months before his next voyage, and she was a fledgling member of the chorus at La Scala. His mother had taken him to see the opera, and, even with everything else going on onstage, he had been unable to take his eyes off of her, had been unable to stop listening to her voice, ringing out clearer than anything else.

He had returned the next night with flowers. He delivered them to her personally.

Oh, she'd had him completely in her spell, alright. She had him wrapped up in a neat little package, ready to be killed at any moment. He'd visited her show after show, took her out to see the city, treated her like a duchess, and all for what? To have her sing, to hear that lovely voice of hers, perhaps to eventually get her into his bed, although, thankfully, he had never accomplished that. Thankfully, because one day he saw what she really was: a siren. A monster.

One of those hateful, fiendish, evil creatures that had murdered his father in cold blood so many years ago.

Matteo Rossini opened his eyes. He would never forgive that siren, or any of her cursed kind. On the day his father had died, he had made it his life's goal to exterminate every last one of those beasts, and when he found out how close he had been to becoming Thelxinoë's victim, well, and he smiled at this, he'd decided to start with her.

It was clear that he would not be able to catch his prey tonight. Slowly, he stood up and left the room, putting his hunt on hold for the night.

* * *

Erik and Thelxinoë continued down the path through Christine's mirror, running through all five floors until they had reached the lake. Once there, Erik stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He was confident that the blonde stranger could not have followed them this far, but he still wanted to get Thelxinoë to safety as quickly as possible.

Thelxinoë was still badly frightened. She was biting her knuckle again, and when Erik turned to talk to her he saw that it was bleeding.

"Thelxinoë!" He grabbed her hand to keep her from doing more damage.

"Huh?" Thelxinoë seemed to have just been jolted back to reality. She looked down and saw her knuckle. "Oh…I'm sorry," she looked back at Erik. "I didn't realize…it's just…" she seemed to Erik to be on the verge of tears again. "It's okay," he said, trying to calm her down, "you just broke the skin a bit, that's all." He let go of her hand and began preparing the boat. "There's no way that that man can follow you all the way down here, and, as for your finger, as long as you don't keep biting it I'd assume that it will heal fairly quickly." He looked back at Thelxinoë, debating whether or not he should ask the question most on his mind. "Thelxinoë," he said at last, "who is that man? Why are you so afraid of him?"

Thelxinoë was looking down, her arms wrapped around her body as if she were hugging herself. "He…" she spoke quietly, her voice a barely audible whisper. "His name is Matteo Rossini, and…and he's someone I knew from…before…"

"Before you came to Paris?"

She nodded. "I worked at La Scala for a while, first as a stage hand and then in the chorus. I…met Matteo there." She looked up at Erik. "He…found out what I was, what I am, I mean, and…" her voice was starting to quaver as tears welled up in her eyes. Erik understood. "It's okay," he said, "you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Everyone has things in their past they'd rather not remember. If you don't want to talk about Matteo, that's fine with me." After all, he reflected, it was the same as his past with Christine: perhaps better for everyone involved if it were not mentioned. Thelxinoë wiped the tears from her eyes and nodded. "Thank you."

A short while later they were across the lake and in Erik's home. Thelxinoë had finally calmed down, if only a bit, and was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in the room. She had taken off her mask, and was looking down at it as she fiddled with it in her lap. She gave a weary scoff. "Of course," she said quietly, with audible resignation, "of course I chose to dress in the most blatantly siren-like way possible. Of course I would do that right when he would show up." She almost sounded angry with herself, like she should have expected Matteo to arrive.

"What are you going to do, Thelxinoë?" Erik was concerned for her. She was, after all, his good friend. "Is there anything that I can do to help you?" A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Thelxinoë, do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"I…I don't think I can stay in my room tonight." She was blushing and looking down as she spoke. She didn't like feeling this helpless. "I don't think that Matteo can do anything to me during the day, but now, with everyone distracted at the masquerade…" her voice trailed off. Erik sensed what she wanted to ask, but also knew her well enough by now to know that, out of embarrassment, or shame, or what have you, she wouldn't necessarily ask it.

"Thelxinoë…" Erik paused for a moment, considering whether or not he really wanted to do this, "Thelxinoë…you can stay here tonight, if you want to." She started. "I, I can? Are you sure? I don't want to cause you any trouble, or—" Erik nodded. "Yes, you can stay here tonight and then tomorrow we'll figure out what to do for the future. There's an extra bedroom you can stay in." She smiled warmly. "Thank you, Erik," she said, "thank you so much."

Later, Erik sat down in his chair. He had just sung Thelxinoë to sleep, and was feeling rather tired himself.

The masquerade had been more of a challenge than he had thought. Seeing Christine again, watching that sailor kiss her, and laugh with her, and hold her hand, and dance with her song after song after song, seeing that smile on her face, hearing that lovely voice once again…all the old emotions had come back. All the love he'd felt for her, all the grief at her departure, all the anger at the sailor who had stolen away what was his, what he had worked so hard to get, all of it had come flooding back to him, and it was all he could do not to show it to Thelxinoë or anyone else.

And yet…and yet while the love had come back, the passion had not. While the grief had come back, the aching pain that had plagued his heart when she left had not. While the anger had come back, the murderous impulse, the absolute _need_ to find a way to kill that sailor and take back his beloved Christine, none of it had returned.

Instead, instead he had found himself noticing things and feeling things that had never occurred to him before. In the candlelight that reached behind her mask, Erik had noticed the way that small lightnings seemed to dance in Thelxinoë's eyes when she laughed. He had found himself taking note of the way her slender frame seemed to fit so comfortably with his as they danced across the floor. When Thelxinoë was frightened, Erik had felt all of his protective instinct—the same protective instinct he had felt previously for Christine—flooding back to him, and found that all he could think of in that moment, the one thing dominating his mind, was how he could protect Thelxinoë and get her to safety.

He had not missed Thelxinoë's tone of voice when she had begun to talk about Matteo Rossini. It was clear that she was in love with him, or at the very least had been at some point. He didn't understand why, but, somehow, hearing this undertone of love in her statements, he had felt his heart throb in a way it only had when he first saw Christine kiss Raoul under the statue of Apollo so long ago.

He knew that he loved Christine, and yet…it was the and yet that was plaguing his mind, filling his head with doubt and leaving nothing but fatigue in its wake.

Erik sighed. He needed sleep. He needed to rest and leave these strange feelings be for a moment. Tomorrow he would be able to examine them with fresh eyes and with fresh insight.

Erik closed his eyes, and was soon asleep.

* * *

Thelxinoë woke early the next morning, as was her custom, and found herself in a bed she did not know.

It took her a few seconds to remember where she was. However, soon it all came back, driving sleep from her mind like a sudden gust of wind. The masquerade, Matteo, Erik taking her to his home to keep her safe, Erik allowing her to sleep in his home for the night, Erik singing her to sleep…she was blushing again. She'd been doing that a lot lately, without knowing the reason why.

She quietly got out of the bed, smoothing her dress as best she could. The wonderful thing about loose cotton dresses, she reflected, was that they didn't wrinkle very easily. She knew that it had to still be early in the morning, so she wasn't sure whether or not Erik would be awake yet. Quietly, she walked out of the bedroom and into the main room of the house.

For the first time, Thelxinoë was able to really look around the house and notice things in it. As she looked around, something caught her eye. She walked up to it to get a closer look.

It was a small statue of a woman, a very beautiful woman, Thelxinoë reflected, wearing a wedding dress. It had clearly been crafted carefully, lovingly, in fact, by someone who knew the subject in a way that no one else could. Thelxinoë bit her lower lip. Something was perplexing her. The person in the statue looked vaguely familiar…the image of a woman with curly brown hair wearing a white ball gown and a white domino mask came to her head.

"Christine Daae?" Thelxinoë whispered it to herself, almost asking the air. But that couldn't be; Erik had said that he'd never met Christine.

And yet…as she reflected on it more, Thelxinoë realized that all through the masquerade, Erik had carefully maneuvered so that he would never once be seen by Christine Daae. While she had not thought anything of it at the time, in retrospect Thelxinoë realized that perhaps it had had more significance than she was aware.

She heard a sound from behind her and nearly jumped. She turned around, only to see Erik sleeping in a chair. Even in his sleep, Thelxinoë reflected, there was a sort of quiet dignity and intensity to Erik that seemed to surround his person like an aura.

What had happened between Erik and Christine? Slowly, and without knowing fully why, Thelxinoë walked silently over to Erik, slowly reached out for his mask, and gently lifted it off his face…

Erik woke up. In an instant and with a yell of fury so forceful it sent Thelxinoë stumbling backwards and crashing to the ground, he grabbed his mask and covered his face. "Damn you!" he shouted at her, the pure, unfiltered rage in his voice resonating through Thelxinoë like the sound from some diabolical tuning fork. "_Damn_ you! You little demon! You weren't content just knowing my voice, were you, you viper? You had to know the face as well?" Erik's words cut through Thelxinoë like knives, rendering her unable to respond. _Damn you…demon…viper…_the words echoed in her mind, growing louder and louder in her conscious as they repeated over and over again, morphing into one, single word louder than any other which made her feel as though it were strangling her voice and stopping her heart:

_Monster_

"How could you think that?" Thelxinoë's voice was quiet, but Erik heard it just as clearly as if she had said it in his ear. "How could you think that?" Thelxinoë looked up at Erik, and he saw for the first time that she was crying. "How could you think that I would be that heartless?" She was yelling, on the verge of hysterics. She stood up. "How can you think that about me? Why?" She took a step back, more visibly hurt and upset than she had ever been in her life. "It's because I'm a monster, isn't it? Because I'm a siren!" She began running towards the lake, her wings emerging even as she leapt into the air. She didn't stop running until she got back to her room. Once there, she closed the door and locked it behind her.

He thought of her as a monster. He was no different from Matteo after all. Sobbing, she crumpled up into a ball on the floor and cried.

* * *

Thelxinoë's words continued to repeat in Erik's head after she had left. _How could you think that?_ He could still see the tears streaming down her face. _It's because I'm a monster, isn't it? Because I'm a siren!_

No. It was nothing to do with what she was. Yes, she was a siren, but that mattered nothing to Erik. What mattered was him. It was his ugliness, his deformity…

_How can you think that about me?_ She didn't understand. It was nothing about her. It was about him. It wasn't what he thought of her at all. It was what she thought of him, what she would think of him now that she'd seen his face. It was only natural that she would think of him differently now. Christine had loved him until she saw his face. Once she had seen how ugly he was, she had hated him. What was to say that Thelxinoë should be any different. It had nothing to do with her being a siren. It had everything to do with the nature of what he was.

_It's because I'm a monster isn't it? Because I'm a siren!_

No. Thelxinoë had it all wrong. She wasn't the monster.

He was.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you again to everyone who is reading this and who enjoys my story. Reviewers will be invited to visit Raoul (rhymes with growl, you know what I'm talking about, Verity) and Christine at the large and impressive de Chagney mansion. **

It was clear to everyone that something was missing.

Her voice was lovely, to be sure. It was a commonly known and accepted fact among the actors and actresses in the opera that Alexandra Olympia sang very well. This day was no exception, except that something seemed to be missing from her voice.

Thelxinoë knew it too. Since the night before, when she had discovered what Erik really thought of her, she hadn't been able to sing fully. All of the other cast members had simply written off her lack of enthusiasm as being tired. After all, the masquerade had lasted late into the night, and it would be perfectly reasonable for her to be tired the next morning. Thelxinoë would laugh and say that, yes, that must be it, all the while keeping the real reason to herself.

The truth was that she was hurt. To learn that Erik thought of her as a monster, that he viewed her the same way that Matteo had, it was too much for her to handle. For this to happen not once, but twice…Thelxinoë sighed, and forced herself to think of something else.

Christine Daae. Thelxinoë looked over at where she stood. She was talking to Meg, preparing for tonight's show. Christine had the lead roll, something that Carlotta was unhappy about, to say the least.

She _was_ beautiful, in her way. Christine had this gorgeous smoky brown hair that spun in lazy curls, perfectly framing her heart shaped face. Her eyes were a lovely ocean blue. Her teeth were perfectly white and strait. She was kind to everyone and she could sing very well. Her only flaw, as far as Thelxinoë could tell, was that she always had her eyes open wide enough to show a ring of white around her irises, causing her to perpetually resemble a stunned rabbit.

What had happened between Erik and Christine? That was the question truly on Thelxinoë's mind. What could possibly have happened between the two of them that it would still leave its mark on the opera? Why did Erik have a statue of Christine in his home?

Why had he tried to avoid her during the masquerade?

Meg had just been called by her mother. She left, and Christine was now alone. Thelxinoë took a deep breath, and walked over to Christine. "Miss Daae?"

Christine turned to Thelxinoë with a smile. "Oh, hello, I don't think we've met yet." She spoke gently, and she smiled. She did have a very pretty smile. Somehow, it just made Thelxinoë feel worse. "You're Alexandra, right? Do you mind if I call you Alexandra?"

"I don't mind." Why did talking to Christine make her feel so awful? "Miss Daae—"

"Oh, please, call me Christine." She smiled again. "I do hope that we'll get to be friends."

"Christine?" Thelxinoë had butterflies in her stomach. She needed to ask this carefully. "I was wondering if you could tell me about the Opera Ghost."

Christine froze. Her eyes widened, making her look, if possible, even more like a stunned rabbit. Thelxinoë could practically see the fuzzy ears twitching. "Alexandra, what are you—"

Thelxinoë grabbed Christine's arm. She knew that Erik could be listening. She _knew_ that he didn't want Christine to know he was still there. But she needed answers, and this was the only way to get them. "Christine," she whispered, throwing her voice to Christine so that hopefully only she would hear it, "I know that you had a relationship with the Opera Ghost. I know that it ended badly. What I don't know are the details. I don't know what happened, or why it happened." Thelxinoë saw Christine's eyes widen. She needed one final push. "Christine, I've been living here since I arrived in Paris. I've been _hearing_ him. He's been singing to me from the shadows. He sang me to sleep one night. I'm starting to get scared. I don't know what he wants." The lies left a bitter taste in her mouth. It twisted her stomach to lie about Erik like this.

Christine clasped Thelxinoë's hand. Her face was an open book, concern written on every page. "Alexandra, you poor thing! He's been preying on you all this time!" She whispered, so as to avoid detection. "You poor, poor dear, trapped here with him all this time…" All this talk of being trapped was starting to make Thelxinoë uncomfortable. She wasn't trapped. She had chosen to live in the opera. But she had to play along with it, at least for now. Christine continued. "If he's still here, we can't talk about him now. Come over to my house tonight. We'll talk more about it then with Raoul." She gave Thelxinoë's hand one more squeeze. "Don't worry, Alexandra, you'll be out of his trap soon." Christine smiled at Thelxinoë, and walked away. Thelxinoë took a deep breath to keep from crying, and walked over to talk to Meg.

Erik overheard the conversation.

He'd meant to apologize to Thelxinoë, to try to explain why he had reacted the way he had. He'd considered his words carefully, had planned out everything that he was going to say, had decided exactly how much of the truth about his relationship with Christine he was going to tell her, and then he'd overheard her talking to Christine.

He should have confronted her. He should have pulled her aside then and there and asked her just what the hell she thought she was doing. He should have yelled at her for ruining his plans, for wasting all of his effort, for destroying any chance he had of reuniting with his beloved Christine.

But that wasn't what was really bothering him.

So instead, he simply returned to his home, his mind blank. His movements were mechanical, without thought or consideration. It was as if he was a puppet, and he didn't care who was on the other end of the strings.

She was leaving. It was as simple as that. Whether he had meant to or not, he had hurt her, and now she was leaving and wasn't coming back.

* * *

A show and a carriage ride later, Thelxinoë stood with her mouth open in front of the largest building she had ever seen. Christine had stepped out of the carriage, and was smiling towards the front door. "Well, we're here." She turned to Thelxinoë. "Alexandra, is something wrong?"

"Th-this is where you live?" All courtesy had been thrown out the window at the arrival of shock. "Christine, it's huge!"

Christine just shrugged. "Well, I guess it is somewhat large."

Calling the de Chagney mansion "somewhat large" would be like calling the expensive crystal chandelier in the opera house "somewhat sparkly". The building was grand beyond imagining, so much so that Thelxinoë couldn't take it in all at once. She had just enough time to take in a vague image of multiple stories, balconies, and decorative elements before she was ushered in by Christine and the door closed behind her.

Christine turned to her and smiled. "Alexandra, I'd like you to meet my husband, Raoul."

Thelxinoë curtsied. "Thank you for allowing me to come here."

Raoul laughed. "Please, there's no need to be so formal." Raoul was relatively handsome in an oddly familiar sort of way. He had somewhat wavy brown hair, a bit long for a man, and eyes as clear and vacant as glass. If eyes were windows to the soul, his were a set of magnifying glasses that displayed his every emotion for all to view. He smiled again. "The pleasure, truly, is all mine, Alexandra".

Matteo Rossini growled as he walked the halls of the opera. Where could the little bitch have run off to now? She had pulled a fast one before, disappearing into thin air like she had. Could she have pulled the same stunt twice?

He smiled. Well, no matter. No matter what the demon had done to evade him, she would be his soon enough. He'd wrap his hands around that evil throat of hers and silence that voice once and for all.

* * *

"…and that's what happened."

Thelxinoë, Christine, and Raoul had moved to the living room, where Christine and Raoul had explained their encounters with the Opera Ghost. Thelxinoë had listened to every word they said, the lump in her throat growing with every sentence. She didn't like going behind Erik's back like this. She felt that she should be hearing all this from him. Christine smiled sadly and continued. "Raoul and I travelled around for a while, stopping at whatever port we felt like. We never really had the intention to go back to Paris, but Andre and Firmin kept contacting us, saying how much I was needed and that the Phantom had left the opera once and for all. Eventually, they were so convincing that we decided to return."

"But we're leaving again first thing in the morning!" Raoul stood up and put his hands on the back of the loveseat. Thelxinoë could see his hands shake as he tightened his grip. "To think that that _thing_, that _monster_ is back—"

The words tumbled out of her mouth before Thelxinoë even knew she was saying them. "Erik is not a monster!"

Thelxinoë's hands flew to cover her mouth, but the damage had already been done. A charged silence filled the air, so heavy and thick that she could taste it.

At last, Christine turned to her husband. "Um, Raoul, darling," she said, "why don't you go see if the servants have prepared a room for Alexandra yet."

"Oh, oh, yes, of course." Raoul blustered and left the room. Christine stopped smiling and turned to Thelxinoë. When she spoke this time, the giggle was gone from her voice. "So you've met him, then?"

Slowly, Thelxinoë lowered her hands from her face and nodded.

"And, you've seen…?"

Thelxinoë bit her bottom lip to keep from crying, and nodded again.

Christine sighed. "Why don't you tell me what's really happening, Alexandra?"

Thelxinoë fidgeted her hands in her lap. She couldn't look Christine in the eye. "…I met him after I first arrived in Paris. He and I became friends, or, at least, I thought we did, and then…" she was choking up. The memory was still too fresh, too raw.

Christine's eyes softened. "And that's when you saw it?"

"It's not that!" Thelxinoë started. "That's not what's wrong, it's just…" she felt the tears running down her cheeks. She knew that she couldn't stop them. "Christine, how could you have chosen Raoul over Erik?" The words were like her tears, uncontrollable and honest. "How could you? Erik…he loves you so much. I could hear it when he talked about you, I just didn't…" Just didn't what? Just didn't want to believe it? "From what you've said, he's done so much for you. I mean, Christine, Raoul got your scarf from the ocean when you were ten. Erik gave you voice lessons, he helped you recover from your father's death, he even wrote an opera so that you could star in it! How could you have chosen Raoul over Erik? How could you?"

Christine listened to her in silence. She took in everything that Thelxinoë said with a strange calmness and serenity, and, with equal serenity, responded. "Alexandra, I'm in love with Raoul."

The answer was so simple and so brutally honest that it caught Thelxinoë off guard. Christine continued. "Everything that you said is true. Yes, Erik did help me recover after my father's death. Yes, he did teach me how to really sing. Yes, he did write an opera with the intention for me to star in it. But, at the end of the day, I was in love with Raoul, and nothing was going to change that."

"Besides," Christine added, almost sadly, "Erik…well, he was like siren song for me: beautiful to listen to, but leading only to harm."

_Siren song_. The words sent a pang of sadness through Thelxinoë's heart. At the end of the day, she too was no more than a monster, a creature that could only lead a person to sadness and woe.

Christine smiled at Thelxinoë and, blushing slightly, added, "Raoul and I are having a baby, actually."

"You are?" Thelxinoë did the math in her head. "But, how do you know so soon?" Christine blushed, and Thelxinoë suddenly realized what she was asking. "Oh, sorry," she quickly added, "I'm sorry; it's not my place to question."

Christine shook her head slightly. "It's fine," she said, "I'm sure that others will be wondering as well." She paused, then added, "It was another reason, really, why it never would have worked between Erik and I."

"I…I suppose that's true," Thelxinoë meekly responded.

It was then that Raoul came back into the room. "Alexandra, your room is ready for any time that you wish to retire." Then, seeing the looks on the faces of the two women in the room, added with a puzzled expression, "What? What did I miss?"

* * *

Later, when Thelxinoë stood alone in the bedroom that Raoul and Christine had had the servants make up for her, once she had taken off her shoes and sat down at the vanity, she suddenly noticed her reflection in the mirror.

It had only just occurred to her that she had never seen a single mirror in Erik's house. While she was sure that she had to have noticed it before, it was only now that she realized the significance of that seemingly minor fact. She looked at her reflection. She looked tired and worn, and sad. And, in truth, she was sad, and she did not fully know the reason for it. She sighed gently. Erik too had always seemed somewhat sad, or at the very least he had that night at the masquerade. He had done his best to hide it, but she could tell by the slight clues in his voice what he was really feeling. Now that she had talked to Christine, she understood why.

She knew that she would never be able to fully understand why or how Christine had chosen Raoul de Chagney over Erik. How could she have? How could she have chosen Raoul, when Erik loved her so much, when he loved her more than anyone could ever even dream of having someone love them? How could she have chosen Raoul, when Erik had helped her heal after her father's death, when he had trained her voice and given her his song?

Christine loved Raoul. That was the only explanation that Thelxinoë could think of, the one that Christine had told her, and it was the only one that made any sense. Erik had loved Christine, but Christine had loved Raoul, and no matter how much Erik loved her, that fact was not going to change.

And how did she, Thelxinoë, feel about Erik? He was her closest and most trusted friend, but was that really all that he was to her? Could that really be all he was, the one person who knew her secret and still fully accepted her for everything that he was? Could he be more than just a friend?

She realized that she knew far more about Erik than she knew about anyone else. Not things like where he grew up or what his favorite flower was (although she certainly had a good guess), but, rather, she knew things about him that went beyond these simple question and went more towards the nature of his very being.

She knew the casual elegance and grace with which he wore a dark tailored suit. She knew the flecks of gold and black that danced in his dark brown eyes when he laughed or they were hit in just the right way by the light. She knew the violin-like resonance of his voice, and the way his long, slender fingers danced across the keys of a piano or organ or held the bow for a violin.

His face. She bit her lower lip in shame as she thought about what lay beneath his mask.

It was ugly. There was no purpose or use in denying it. In truth, the face that he concealed under his mask could not truly be called a face at all. It was so distorted and deformed that she easily understood why he had chosen to hide it behind a mask rather than take his chances in the world. And after talking with Christine, she understood why he would have reacted the way he did when she took his mask off.

And yet, Thelxinoë knew in every fiber of her being that his ugliness, what lay beneath his mask, meant nothing. No matter what he looked like, she liked him, and she liked being with him. How could she convince him that she liked him not in spite of his face, nor regardless of his face, nor even in any way because of his face, but that she simply liked him, without any sort of condition or qualification?

How could she explain that in that moment, when she had seen him asleep in his chair, when he had just shown her more kindness and help than anyone ever had before, that in that moment she had wanted, no, she had _needed_ to know who he was and what he looked like? How could he ever understand that in that moment that need to know more of him, to know why he hid himself away from the world had constituted her entire being, had flowed like fire through her veins with every throb of her heart, beating so strongly that she felt it in her chest and heard it in her head? How could she explain that she had found herself in that moment slowly reaching for his mask, and knew in the deepest sections of her heart that she would not be able to stop herself from taking it off?

How could she explain that she had come to think of him as her closest friend, her confidant, and her family? How could she say that she had never met anyone other than him who knew her secret, and liked her not in spite of what she was, nor regardless of what she was, nor even in any way because of what she was, but simply liked her for who she was, who viewed her heritage simply as an unchangeable part of what she was, the same as her oddly colored hair or soprano voice, without impacting his impression of _who_ she was?

She felt the tears coming even as she feebly tried to will them away. He probably hated her now. What she had done, taking off his mask like that, not even considering what he might think, had hurt him. And, with her reaction to what he had said, it would only be natural for him to think that she wanted nothing more to do with him.

Thelxinoë gasped. And by leaving the opera house with Christine, she had probably only confirmed his suspicion more!

Thelxinoë cursed and leapt up from the chair. She had to go back to the opera house. She had to apologize to Erik, to tell him what she really thought. But how could she possibly express what she wanted to say?

And then she knew.

Without even pausing to put on her shoes, Thelxinoë opened the bedroom window and leapt out into the night, wings unfolding even as her feet left the ground. She had a long way to fly, and the night was growing short…

* * *

Standing in her bedroom window, Christine watched the silver-haired angel as she flew into the night. She closed the curtain as Raoul entered, turning around just as he asked where Alexandra had gone.

"Oh, it's nothing," Christine responded with a smile, "She just realized that she had to go back to the opera after all, and she had to leave in a hurry. She was so sorry to leave without thanking you, darling, I had to convince her that it was really quite alright."

"Huh," Raoul responded. "It's really funny, though, she left her shoes behind." Christine giggled. "Well, I did say that she was in a hurry." She smiled at her husband. "We'll simply bring them to her tomorrow when I go to rehearsal."

Raoul frowned. "Do you really think that's wise, Christine?" He reached out and stroked her hair, something he always did when he was concerned about her. "I mean, if he's back in the opera…"

Christine smiled and took his hand. "Raoul," she said gently, moving closer to him, "I know this may sound silly, but, somehow, I have this feeling that everything is going to turn out fine." And she kissed him.

* * *

Thelxinoë landed on the roof of the opera house just as the first rays of the sun were beginning to emerge over the horizon. Her wings felt like jelly, and her body was one massive ache. She could not remember ever having flown so far, so fast.

It was worth it, though. She looked down at the flower in her hand, mercifully unharmed by the long flight. A single, thornless, burgundy rose. She smiled and walked down the stairs that Erik had shown her the first time they had walked up to the roof together, and found herself backstage. She walked out from behind the curtain and stepped onto the stage, intending to make her way to Box Five. As soon as she got to center stage, however, she heard someone start to clap. She looked towards the source of the sound, and froze.

Matteo Rossini stood up from his seat in the center of the first row as he slowly applauded her, each clap sure and definite. Clap. Clap. Clap. He smiled at her like a wolf, his sky-blue eyes cold as winter steel.

"Found you."

Thelxinoë bolted. Wings still out but too tired to fly, she ran as fast as she could without knowing where she was going. Matteo followed close behind, gaining on her seemingly with every step. At last she reached her dressing room. She ran in, slammed the door behind her, and fumbled with the lock. She heard him pounding on the door even as she looked around and realized there was nowhere left to run. Her heart was pounding so quickly that she couldn't distinguish the individual beats anymore, and the door was starting to give…

The rose in her hand dropped to the floor as the door shattered. She screamed to anyone, _anyone_ who would listen to her. "Help me!"

A rough hand grabbed her left wing, something hard hit her on the back of the head, and the world went black.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you to everyone who is reading this. Please review and tell me what you think.**

Erik had come running as soon as he'd heard her scream. Pausing only to grab his sword, he'd tried in vain to reach Thelxinoë and help her in time. But by the time he'd reached her dressing room and had entered through the mirror, she was gone. The room he entered was barely recognizable. The splintered door had been forced from it hinges. The chair which had previously stood in front of the vanity had been thrown to the floor, the legs snapped off and the back broken. Even the modest makeshift bed in the corner was destroyed, the tattered sheets stained with blood. Yet, amidst this chaos, there were two things lying on the floor that caught Erik's eye. The first was a single, thornless, burgundy rose. The second was a large silver-ivory feather, stained with blood at the base. This he picked up, examining it. It definitely wasn't a feather from her hair. It could only be a primary, one of the main feathers on her wings. The bloodstain showed where someone had ripped it out in the obvious struggle. "What in God's name happened here?" Erik threw the question to the air.

He felt the cold kiss of steel at his throat. "Funny," a female voice sang behind him, "I was just about to ask you the same thing." The knife at his throat dug in slightly as he reached for his sword. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the voice advised. Erik felt his hand stop even as he willed it not to. What strange power did this person have? The voice continued. "Now," it growled as it sang, "you are going to tell me where my niece is, and then you are going to forget we ever had this conversation. Do you understand?"

Something clicked into place in Erik's mind. Singing, her _niece_, the pieces all fit. "If I knew where Thelxinoë was," he said calmly, "I would not be here right now. I would be rescuing her from a certain Matteo Rossini."

The knife was removed from his throat, and Erik turned around to see who was behind him. A tall woman with flaxen hair and hazel eyes stood there, wearing a white cotton shift dress and holding a dagger in her hand. Her hair was filled with flaxen-ivory feathers, and two large flaxen-ivory wings sprouted from her back. "How do you know her name?" She sang. "More than that, how can you even have a conversation with me? You shouldn't be able to really respond more than I tell you to."

"My name is Erik," he kept his voice calm, all the while keeping his hand near his sword, just in case. "Thelxinoë has been living here for a bit. She's been working as a chorus girl." He paused, then continued. "And, I assume that you are one of her aunts, perhaps?"

"Parthenope," her response was short, to the point. She scowled and looked to the side, talking more to herself than to Erik. "Tch. That girl doesn't learn anything, does she?" She paced, her wings trailing behind her. "You'd think that she'd learn after the first time, but _noooooo_, she has to go and start working at _another_ opera house, because we all know that worked _so_ well last time—" She stopped, cocking her head to the side as if listening to something. "There are people coming, you know." She looked at Erik. "You came in through the mirror, right? I'd open that path back up, if I were you. Two very panicky men are going to arrive here in about forty seconds."

That sounded like Andre and Firmin. "We need to rescue Thelxinoë."

"Well, DUH! Just what kind of aunt do you think I am?" Parthenope rolled her eyes. "But, seeing as you came in through the mirror and I'm a mythological monster, neither of us can really afford to be seen by society, and besides, we don't even know where she is." She scowled. "The bastard has her gagged, and he's at the very least been smart enough not to say anything yet." She shook her head. "I'm listening for her, though. I'll know where they are as soon as one of them talks."

"And then…?"

Parthenope grinned. "And then, _Monsieur Erik_, we find the bastard that kidnapped Thelxinoë and kill him."

* * *

The opera was in a state of chaos. Andre and Firmin were running around like headless chickens trying desperately to prevent the entire cast from panicking, and, for the most part, failing miserably at it. They had torn through their letter boxes, searching for a note, a letter, any sort of message from the Opera Ghost to possibly explain what was going on. The last thing that the opera needed was for the Phantom to abduct anyone else.

Five stories below the chaos, Erik paced in the main room of his home, his sword still on his belt, his mind racing in frustration. "Of course, you do realize that they are going to think _I_ abducted her," he growled, "the one time I don't do something, they're going to think I'm the cause." He whirled around to face Parthenope. "The bastard still hasn't said anything?" he barked at her.

Parthenope was sitting on top of the piano. "I told you," she said, "when I know where they are, I'll let you know." She was holding the burgundy rose in front of her face, twirling it slightly as she examined it. "So this is what she flew all the way to Anthemoessa and back for," she gave an impressed chuckle. "Damn, my niece is good."

Erik stopped pacing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that my niece sure does know the right flower to choose to send a message." She continued twirling the flower as she spoke. "It seemed strange to me that Thelxinoë would have flown from Paris all the way to Anthemoessa and back in less than one night to get this." She looked at Erik. "Do you know how long a flight that is? I followed a few miles behind her on her return trip. You need to fly insanely high and fast in order to make that trip in less than half a night. It's pretty tiring even as a one-way trip. I can only imagine what it must have been like for her going both ways." She casually flipped a few stray strands of flaxen hair behind her ear. "She hasn't even really ever flown that far before, so it must have really taken a lot out of her. I didn't exactly think that she would ever come back to Anthemoessa at all. I figured that something major must have happened to her. It was even weirder when I saw that she was only getting this one flower and then flying back."

Erik looked at Parthenope. "What does this have to do with sending a message?"

Parthenope sighed. "Really? Just how dense are you?" She scoffed. "She was sending you a message, if you must know." She looked directly at Erik. "A burgundy rose. It means unconscious beauty."

She tossed the rose to him. He caught it, and then paused, his mind frozen. A few seconds later he realized he was still holding onto the rose. He was unsure of what to do with it.

Parthenope had been silently studying him the whole time. "So," she continued, "I can assume that that mask of yours isn't just a fashion statement." She furrowed her brow, a question in her eyes. "Hey Erik," she said at last, "who were your parents?"

_Again?_ "My father was a master mason who left when I was born. I was never close with my mother. Why exactly are you asking this?"

"Damn." Parthenope shook her head. "I could have sworn you were Apollo's kid."

That caught Erik by surprise. "What?"

"Well, it would have explained a lot." Parthenope shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, for whatever reason, you're all but impervious to siren song. That's something that's never happened before."

"I'm no expert on Greek mythology," Erik said, "but weren't you also unsuccessful with both Odysseus and the Argonauts?"

"The Argonauts cheated." Parthenope snapped. "Orpheus just sang really loudly. And once we heard that Orpheus was on board we stopped. It wouldn't exactly do well for us to kill Calliope's son. And, if you recall, _Monsieur Erik_, one of the Argonauts _did_ jump overboard, and Aphrodite had to save him." She smirked. "And as for Odysseus-the-arrogant, we weren't exactly trying. After all, he was Athena's favorite. It's never a good idea to make the boss mad." She sighed disdainfully. "And, again, _Monsieur Erik_, you're forgetting that he had to be tied to the mast in order to keep from jumping overboard." She scoffed. "Not that that would have stopped us if we were really trying. Same with the beeswax in the crew's ears. Really, whose idea was that? Oh, that's right, Athena's precious little _Odysseus_ thought it up. _Pfft_. Really, we can throw our voices across ten miles on a bad day. I don't think a little _beeswax_ is going to stop us." Parthenope had clearly said all of this several times before. She seemed to be having quite a lot of fun singing Odysseus's inadequacies. Erik stopped her. "And what about Thelxinoë's father? Were you successful with him as well?"

Parthenope froze. Her mouth was open slightly in shock. "Huh," she finally seemed to find her voice again. "So my niece even told you that part of the story, did she?" She looked back at Erik, her face serious, her eyes piercing. "Listen," she growled, her voice low and sharp, "I don't know how much my niece told you and how much you just assumed on your own, but, if I were you, I wouldn't start taunting a siren with this story." She glared at him. "You're no more than Midas. You don't know anything about Thelxinoë's past, so don't go acting as if you're the expert on her life, or on mine, for that matter."

"So then why don't you tell me about what happened?" Erik knew that the opportunity might never arise again. "Thelxinoë has already told me that her mother was a siren, that her father was a sailor, that both of them are dead, that she met Matteo Rossini when she worked at La Scala, and that you were the only one of her aunts who ever really accepted her parents' love. I have a feeling that there is much more going on than this. And I also think," he added before Parthenope could interrupt him, "that it matters very much in terms of what is happening now."

"And why should I tell you?" Parthenope got off of the piano and walked towards Erik, her eyes narrowed. "How do I know I can trust you with this information?"

"I want to save Thelxinoë. I don't want to see her harmed. If I know why Matteo wants her dead, don't you think it will help me protect her?"

Parthenope turned around. For a moment, Erik didn't think that she was going to tell him. Finally, she spoke. "You really are insufferable, did you know that?" She laughed slightly, looking up and the ceiling. "Was this your trick, Athena? Are you working with Hermes?" she threw the questions out to the air. "Or is he yours, Apollo?" She shook her head. "No, I don't need an answer. I get it." She turned back to face Erik, and, stepping backwards, hopped back up onto the piano. "I get it," she said, "I'll tell you all about her painful past, just don't interrupt me. I don't know if I'll want to continue if you make me stop."

"Of course." Erik sat down in a nearby chair, placing the burgundy rose on the table next to it. He looked back at Parthenope. "Start any time you like."

Parthenope sighed, and began to speak.

"What Thelxinoë told you is true," she began, "her mother was a siren, the youngest of all of us. Her name was Thelxiepeia, and she had the most beautiful voice that you could ever hear. The father…I never did learn his name. Thelxiepeia was careful about that. She knew that none of us really accepted the fact that they were in love, so she didn't give us anything that we could use to harm him.

"I guess you could say he was a modern-day Butes, rescued from certain death by Aphrodite. He heard my sister's song and swam towards us to hear it. I guess she miscalculated the distance, or he was simply a far better swimmer than any of us could have predicted, because he actually managed to get ashore. The two fell in love as soon as they saw each other. I suppose one of us should have seen Eros laying in wait, but we didn't, and that was that.

"To say that the rest of us couldn't believe what was happening would be an understatement. Meaning no offense, I'm not even sure that Athena in her infinite wisdom could have predicted that one of us would fall in love with one of Poseidon's own.

"You know, gods don't normally feud. The reason for this is pretty simple. 'Forever' is a very long time to stay angry at someone. But Athena and Poseidon have been going at it since that whole Athens affair Zeus knows how long ago. But whereas Poseidon just got angry and fought on opposite Athena for a few wars, Athena was, true to her nature, actually pretty smart about how she fought. She figured that if she made the sea really dangerous to travel, that people wouldn't want to travel it as much and Poseidon would lose support. So, she started putting all sorts of dangerous things in the ocean. We're just one example of that. She gave us sirens a sort of immortality in exchange for singing sailors to their deaths. For the most part, it's worked pretty well. We're on Athena's side, and sailors are on Poseidon's side. It's that simple.

"Unfortunately, a siren and a sailor being in love doesn't really fall into that plan. And we sirens weren't the only ones upset by this. The sailors were equally as shocked and unhappy as we were. But they did what we would not, and so, just after her child was born, Thelxiepeia's lover was murdered by some of his own.

"Thelxiepeia was devastated. She wanted to visit her lover's grave, to mourn for him. I tried to stop her, but—" Parthenope choked up. She quickly took a deep breath and continued. "But it was no use. I told her that there would be sailors waiting for her, waiting to kill her. Sirens are only immortal as long as we aren't killed. We won't age, we won't die of sickness, but we can still be stabbed with a dagger just like anything else. Thelxiepeia…she knew this too. She told me to take care of her child if, if…" Parthenope paused again to regain her composure. Erik remained silent. Parthenope continued. "That was the last time I heard her voice. She sang a lullaby to the baby, and then flew off to her husband's grave. The sailor that had murdered her lover was waiting for her there. He murdered her too, but not before tearing out her larynx. Her child hadn't even been named yet.

"I loved my sister, Erik, I really loved her. Just as devastated as she was when her lover was murdered, so was I, and more so, when she was killed. I named Thelxinoë after her, but I couldn't keep her on Anthemoessa. To my other sisters, Thelxiepeia got what she deserved for siding with Poseidon, and there was no way that they could ever accept Thelxinoë. So I left her with an orphanage on the coast of Greece and went to get my revenge. I personally hunted down the sailor that had killed Thelxiepeia, and I sang him to his death myself. I convinced the crew to hold him down, and I invoked the Furies and cut him down there and then.

"I kept an eye on Thelxinoë from afar, watching her play with that silly Victor boy. She sang all the time, and she sounded so much like her mother…when she was seven, I finally decided that it was time she learn about who she was. I brought her to Anthemoessa, and taught her what it was to be a siren. She never did sing anything to its doom; she just wasn't comfortable doing that. I suppose it only serves me right. After all, I had left her too close to a navy area. When she left, she said it was because of that, but I really think in part it my sisters were to blame. They never accepted Thelxinoë, and it was obvious to her that she wasn't liked. She stayed on Anthemoessa for a few years, but then she left to see the world.

"From Greece, she went to Italy, and eventually made her way to La Scala. She started off as a stage hand, but she was always singing backstage, and soon the managers decided it would be a good idea to make her a chorus member. I flew in at night every so often to check up on her and see how she was doing. She loved working in the opera, and seemed to have really found her calling. When she started talking about having met a nice boy named Matteo, I found myself hoping with all my might that it would work out. She told me that he was a sailor, and made me promise that neither I nor my sisters would harm him. I wanted her to be happy so badly…I made the biggest mistake of my life. I swore by the River Styx that I would never use my voice to harm him, and that I would keep my sisters from doing so as well. I prayed to the gods that everything would work out for the best.

"But the future the Fates had in store was no where near so happy. And when Thelxinoë told Matteo what she was…I should have predicted it. It was the last name, Rossini. It was the same as the sailor that had murdered Thelxiepeia. It turns out that Matteo was none other than this man's son. When Thelxinoë told him what she was, he snapped. He tried then and there to kill her, calling her a monster, and breaking her heart.

"She was so in love with him, Erik. To her, his hair was pure sunlight and his eyes were two open skies. He would take her out and show her the city. He would treat her like a Lady, and he brought her roses after every performance. I don't think that she ever really recovered from his rejection. When it happened, she fled Italy, continuing to travel north until she finally reached here.

"The last time that I tried talking to her was the night she left La Scala. She yelled at me, saying it was my fault that Matteo hated her, saying that she never wanted to see me again. I never expected her to return to Anthemoessa for any reason, so when I saw her there last night…I saw that she grabbed a flower. I knew that she'd always had a knack for sending messages with flowers, and I wanted to see what was happening with her. So I waited until I couldn't see her, but not so long that I couldn't hear her. Then I followed her all the way to Paris, only to find that she's found a new opera house, a new friend, a new chance at happiness, only to have it subsequently taken away by that scoundrel Rossini." Parthenope sighed and looked again at Erik. "So now you know, _Monsieur Erik_, why Matteo wants her dead."

"So, how can you rescue her?" Erik asked, "Didn't swear you wouldn't harm him?"

"I said I wouldn't harm him with my _voice_," Parthenope replied, toying with her dagger, "But, really, even without my voice, I'm not entirely defenseless." She looked up at him. "Even if I did swear by the River Styx, I wouldn't leave myself without any way to protect my niece if I needed to."

The hours passed without much more talk. Erik continued his pacing, and Parthenope closed her eyes as she sat upon the piano. Erik was just starting to wonder if she had fallen asleep when she suddenly stiffened and snapped her eyes open.

"That's them," she said, "just now, Matteo Rossini started talking."

Erik started. "Where are they?"

Parthenope closed her eyes and cocked her head towards the sound, furrowing her brow. "They're surprisingly close…I'd say only a few miles outside of Paris. On horseback you could make it in about an hour or so." She smiled. "The idiot took Thelxinoë when she was in her siren form, so he couldn't exactly transport her in a way that people could see."

Erik was already walking towards the lake. "Let's go."

Once they had reached the other side, Parthenope frowned. "I said you could make it in about an hour on _horseback_," she said, "not by foot."

Erik's response was to place two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. A pure white horse trotted out of the darkness. Erik mounted it and looked at Parthenope. "You were saying?"

Parthenope shook her head. "Really," she laughed, "you do like to be dramatic."

* * *

Thelxinoë woke up with a hard gag in her mouth and her hands tied behind her back in a room that she did not know. She could feel where one of the feathers on her left wing had been torn out, and her head hurt more, it seemed, than Zeus's must have before Athena emerged from it.

Matteo Rossini was sitting backwards on a chair in front of her, his sculpted arms folded across the back. "So," he said, "you're finally awake."

Thelxinoë automatically thrashed against her bonds, trying to flee. Matteo laughed. "Oh no," he grinned, "you're not escaping me this time, you little demon." He got up from the chair and began pacing. "All this time I've been searching for you…and to think I finally found you here, here!" He was laughing. Thelxinoë could see his eye twitch. "You monsters really are too predictable, don't you know? It's only natural you would go to a place where you could acquire as many victims as possible. I knew that if I searched the opera houses I would find you eventually." He suddenly grabbed the front of her dress and pulled her up towards him. "And if your kind is spreading beyond your little island, well, all the more dangerous for we _humans_." Thelxinoë couldn't breathe. She saw a vein pulsing in his temple, saw his eyes, filled with nothing but blood and cold steel. "Maybe…" he said, his voice barely a whisper, "I was originally going to wait until I got you back to Italy to take your voice and kill you, but maybe I should just start right here!" He threw her onto the floor and grabbed a knife from the table. "I'll cut out your throat here and now, you monster! I'll murder you just like your kind murdered my father!" And the knife was plunging towards her, fast and sharp.

The door exploded off its hinges just as the knife was about to hit her throat. Matteo whirled around. "Who's there!" he shouted.

As the dust cleared, Thelxinoë saw Erik standing in the doorway, a sword adorned with a skull on the hilt in his hand extended towards Matteo. "I'm here, the Angel of Death," he spoke in a voice more deadly and mesmerizing than a fire, "now come, Matteo Rossini. Come face me and fight your last duel."


	14. Chapter 14

**I know it's been almost a year. I'm sorry. No excuse could really explain what happened. All I can do is hope that all of you are still willing to continue on for the final chapters of this story. I do want to thank all of you out there who read this story, everyone who has reviewed so far. Reviews are always welcome. Once again, thank you for reading, I'm sorry for the near year-long delay, and I hope that you enjoy the chapter.**

"The Angel of Death?" Matteo looked at Erik and lowered his dagger slightly. Then he scoffed, smug and unconcerned. "I think not, _Monsieur_," he said, "You're the little monster's latest victim, aren't you? I'm impressed, Thelxinoë, that you could cast such a long lasting spell."

"No enchantment, Matteo," Erik replied, sword still level with his opponent's throat, "I came here of my own free will, same as you."

Matteo shook his head, smiling. "Well, that's a real shame. Because, you see, _Monsieur Angel_, that means I have to kill you, same as her."

"Would you stop chatting and just kill the bastard already?" Parthenope entered the room, the front of her dress stained with blood. She was casually wiping blood off her face and arms.

Matteo's eyes narrowed. "I see you're not alone. And, I'm sorry, but it's the _monsters_ that will be killed here." He looked directly at Erik. "The monsters, and the foolish humans who choose to join them."

"Too late for that, Rossini." Parthenope sang with the severe gravity of a battle drum. "Those silly guards you stationed outside the door are already dead."

Erik's eyes flickered towards her for a moment, then shifted back towards Matteo. It explained the blood on her dress. He knew that _he_ certainly had not killed the guards. A low growl escaped Matteo's throat. "You'll pay for taking their lives with your own, siren."

"Oh, I didn't kill them, if that's what you're implying," Parthenope sang, "no, they…they came to a…sudden realization, if you will." Her eyes locked with Matteo's, steely and cold. "You see, they all came to the sudden realization that their lives weren't worth the flesh on their bones." Even Erik felt a chill run down his spine. Parthenope's song continued. "They decided that the world would be far better off without them. They had their swords right in their hands." She sighed, passive "How easy it was for them, really, how easy to simply end it all, right then and there."

Matteo, was silent for a moment. "…I see." He looked back at Erik. "I'll remember that ease and it many applications when your turn comes. At the moment, however, I believe I have to contend with this so-called 'Angel'." He stepped forward, too casual. Erik could see the swagger beneath his relaxed façade. "On inspection, _Monsieur_, it doesn't really seem like a fair match, you with your fancy sword and myself with naught but this knife." He sheathed the knife in his belt and reached towards the coat loosely draped on the chair. He pulled a sword from behind it, the metallic ring unearthly loud in the quiet of the room. He smiled and looked back at Erik. "This is a more appropriate choice of weapon, don't you think?" And he lunged.

Erik quickly parried, twisting his blade around Matteo's sword, like a snake of liquid mercury, and darted the tip towards Matteo's throat. Matteo leapt back, parrying the blade and reposting with a strike of his own.

Back and forth the blows continued. Each time that it seemed one was gaining ground, the other would lash out with a counterblow that would set his opponent back. So far, not a single blow had reached its intended target. Erik could see the sailor starting to sweat through his shirt. Matteo was a frustratingly skilled fencer, but Erik knew that in a duel such as this the difference between life and death often came down to a test of endurance. Even the most skilled fencers tired quickly unless they learned to reserve their true strength and skill for when it would really matter. At last, in a desperate effort to force Erik to drop his guard, Matteo swung his blade towards the ceiling, hoping Erik would follow it and provide an opening. But his movement was too large. He was tired, and he had neither the control nor the precision to execute such a feint without leaving his ribcage open to attack. Erik seized the opportunity, lunging forward with all his strength to deliver a first and final strike.

Matteo grinned and slashed upwards with his left hand. Too late, Erik realized that the sailor had once more unsheathed his knife. Cursing, he jumped back to avoid the blow, but not before the knife's tip caught underneath his mask, tearing the mask from his face and sending it crashing to the floor.

Matteo stopped, seemingly frozen. Erik watched as his face contorted from triumph, to shock, to horror, to disgust. He took one step back. "What…what in hell's name are you?" He produced a sound that was a mixture of a scoff, a spit, and a growl. "So, one monster comes to help another, is that the case?"

Erik lunged again, taking advantage of Matteo's dropped guard. The sailor swore and leapt back just in time to prevent serious injury, watching as Erik's blade sliced through his coarse shirt like paper. Then he growled and barked, "A savage monster, too! Thought you'd catch me off guard, eh, you demon?" His face spread in a wild, savage grin. "Think again, bastard!"

But it was clear that Matteo had been caught off guard. Erik doubled his ferocity, slashing in again and again, slicing the sailor's shirt to ribbons, with each lunge striking closer to his chest. At last, the sailor stumbled. Exhausted, he staggered under the force of a downward blow. Swiftly, and with a shout of victory, Erik's blade flashed around Matteo's hands, knocking his opponent's weapons to the ground. The tip of Erik's sword shot out like a viper, slicing through fabric and flesh as it sank into Matteo's exposed chest. Erik put his full force behind the strike, driving deeper into Matteo's skin and muscle until Erik felt the grating resistance of the sword grazing against hard bone. He pulled the sword out of Matteo's chest and leapt back, ready to strike again if necessary.

Matteo staggered, grabbing the chair for support. Parthenope moved behind him and pulled her dagger from her belt. "It's over, Rossini," she sang, "make it easier for yourself and give up now."

"Over?" Matteo gasped and laughed. "I think not, siren!" He reached towards the desk. Too late, Erik saw the gun in his hand, saw him pull the trigger.

Parthenope screamed in anger as she fell to the ground, blood pouring from the wound in her shoulder. Erik started to run towards her, but Parthenope pushed herself up and shouted, "You idiot! I'm fine! It's Rossini we need to worry about! He's escaping! Catch him, quick!"

Erik ran out the door, past the bodies of the two dead guards, and looked around for Matteo. But the sailor was nowhere to be found. Erik cursed under his breath. The sun would be rising soon, and it would be impossible for him to find Matteo in that blinding sun and the sea of Parisian humanity. Besides, with the wound Erik had put it his chest, the sailor wouldn't be able to run far. With that wound, the sailor would have to seek out medical treatment, and thus would be delayed in his travel for at least one more day. Erik sheathed his sword and walked back inside.

Parthenope had gotten up and was sawing through the ropes around Thelxinoë's wrists with her dagger. The process was slow with only one good arm, so Erik took over for her while she began tying a makeshift bandage around her shoulder. He removed the gag from Thelxinoë's mouth. She coughed before regaining her voice. "Are you alright?" Erik asked her.

"Yes," Thelxinoë responded, "yes, I am, thanks to you." She looked up at him and started crying. "Erik, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry, I didn't mean, I didn't want to hurt you at all, I wasn't thinking, and—"

"Thelxinoë, it's okay. You're safe now." Erik tried his best to calm her. "Matteo cannot hurt you anymore. You're safe."

Thelxinoë shook her head. "No, no, it's not okay, it's not okay, I shouldn't, I shouldn't have taken, have taken off your—"

Erik placed his hand gently over her mouth. "I understand," he whispered, "I understand. You don't have to say anything more. You don't have to apologize." He took one glance at the complicated knot securing the ropes about her wrists and decided that Parthenope had taken the right approach in simply trying to saw through the ropes. He took Parthenope's dagger and continued where she had left off.

"What, no thanks for your aunt?" Parthenope was standing as he finished sawing through the ropes. Thelxinoë ran to her and embraced her, sobbing into her shoulder. Parthenope's face softened. "It's okay, Thelxinoë, you're safe now." She was holding Erik's mask in one hand. She held it out to him. "Hey, _Monsieur_ Erik, do you want this back?" Erik nodded and took the mask, placing it back on his face. He could feel Parthenope's gaze on the back of his neck. He responded as she and Thelxinoë finally detached from each other. He saw Thelxinoë walk behind him out of the corner of his eye. "I know. Rather ugly, isn't it?"

"Actually, I was just thinking that it's not the worst I've seen. Believe me, there are plenty of Cyclops that would give you a run for your money."

"Hm. I'll have to remember that. How's your shoulder, by the way?"

"That bastard Rossini put a pretty decent channel in it, but it should heal well enough. I was only grazed, really. It doesn't seem like he hit anything vital." She sighed. "I can't believe that you let that bastard get away. Although, with that wound you gave him I doubt he'll be running far."

"That, I suppose, was the idea," Erik replied. "But, in any case, we ought to return to the opera house before the night ends." He turned around. "Thelxinoë, we should go—" He stopped and swore violently.

"What? What's wrong?" Parthenope turned in the same direction and swore in a language Erik had never heard.

Thelxinoë was gone.

"Damn it all to Tartarus! Damn it!" Parthenope's eyes were wild. "It's that Matteo bastard! He must have come back and taken her when we weren't looking!"

"To hell with that!" Erik ran out the door, sword unsheathed, with Parthenope flying behind him. With any luck, Matteo and Thelxinoë wouldn't be far.

* * *

Matteo swore as he staggered down the alley. He winced and leaned against the wall, one hand held to the wound to try to slow the bleeding. That masked monster had wounded him badly, although, with any luck, he had missed any vital organs. As it was, it would take a while for him to fully heal. He would have to wait, search again for Thelxinoë. Surely she would leave town now. He smiled. Or maybe he would get lucky and she would think he was dead. Or that her little monster friend could protect her forever.

"Matteo."

He stopped. "Who's there?"

"It's me, Matteo."

He turned around. Thelxinoë. _Thelxinoë_. The siren herself was standing barefoot before him, her wings out, feathers in her silver hair.

"Can't we work this out Matteo?" she sang, "Can't we find some way to settle our differences?"

"There is no way to work this out." Matteo snarled. Just what was she playing at? "You killed my father. You monster, you killed my father. Do you think that's something I can forgive so easily?"

"No, Matteo, you have it all wrong." Thelxinoë shook her head. "I never killed your father. Yes, I lied to you. Yes, my mother was a siren. But my father was a sailor, Matteo, a sailor just like you, just like your father."

"Liar!" Matteo barked, anger rising in his throat. "You aren't human. You're a monster. All that you do is hurt people. That's all any of your kind do!"

"That's not true. That's just not…" Thelxinoë was crying, looking down. She wiped her face with her left hand, her right hand was behind her back. She was biting her lip. Matteo felt no pity for her. She was a monster. She deserved far worse than tears. "…If you can't, if you can't forgive me," she sang through the tears, quietly, "if you can't forgive me," she looked directly into his eyes and took a deep breath, "if you can't forgive me, Matteo, then kill me now."

Matteo froze. "What?"

"Kill me now." Her voice was stronger, louder. "I still love you, Matteo. I'm still in love with you. And if you can't forgive me for my lie, if you really do think of me as nothing more than a monster, then kill me now."

Could this be true? A savage grin slowly spread across Matteo's face. "Yes…" he murmured, "yes, yes, YES!" His wound, the blood pouring from his chest entirely forgotten, he lunged for her, his arms outstretched to strangle that monstrous throat, to silence and kill the demon voice once and for all.

The knife stabbed into his chest, directly into his heart. Matteo looked down. His own knife was buried to the hilt in his flesh, almost invisible in the darkness and blood. He looked up at the siren one last time, saw the tears on her face, and fell. The world grew dark and cold as he heard the siren's final whispered song.

"I'm sorry, Matteo."


	15. Chapter 15

**To say that this chapter is overdue would be an understatement.**

**To say my life has been busy would be an understatement as well.**

**I know that this chapter is now more than a year overdue, and I am sorry for the delay. In part, the wait has been due to a number of unforeseen events in my life that interfered with my ability to write this story. However, part of the reason for the delay is entirely different. I find the idea of ending this story daunting.**

**It is hard to say goodbye to these characters, to bid farewell to Thelxino****ë and Erik. I know that I will miss them greatly.**

**But, while I do not have any plans for them now, who knows? Perhaps we shall see them again someday.**

**And now, without further delay, I present to you the final chapter of Siren Song.**

Parthenope found her sister singing to her still-unnamed child.

It was a simple lullaby with a haunting melody, and Thelxiepeia's clear, sweet voice made every note resonate with peace. But Parthenope could hear the sorrow underneath the sweetness, the turmoil and anguish beneath the peace.

"She'll cry in her sleep if you keep singing her that," Parthenope landed next to her sister. Thelxiepeia was the youngest of the sirens, and Parthenope had always thought that she had the best voice. The sirens all referred to each other as sisters, but Thelxiepeia was the only one to whom Parthenope was actually related by blood. Parthenope was very protective of her younger sister, and hated hearing the sadness that had dominated her voice since the death of her beloved sailor. Her cloudy eyes had grown bloodshot and lost their light since his death, and her auburn hair fell thick in her lovely face. She no longer seemed to have the will to tie the thick waves back, as if her hair was a shield to block out the world.

Thelxiepeia looked at her sister with red, tear filled eyes. "I may not have another chance," she said, "I have to go to his grave."

"Thel, we've already discussed this," Parthenope grabbed her sister's shoulder. "If you go there, Thel, if you visit his grave, they _will_ kill you. His sailor friends haven't left that place since they buried him. They bring their meals from outside. They're waiting for you, Thel, and they will _kill you_ if you go." Thelxiepeia was limp under her sister's grip, like a doll. "I know," she responded, too quiet, "but I have to go there."

"What about your child?" Parthenope's anger mixed with fear. She did not know what she would do if Thelxiepeia were killed. "Thel, you haven't even named her yet!"

"I'll name her when I come back."

"And if you don't?"

"Then you can name her."

In that moment, Parthenope understood that her sister had resigned herself to death, and that nothing she could say would convince her to change her course of action. She sat with her beloved sister and listened to her sing for the last time, that terrible, sweet lullaby to her unnamed child. Thelxiepeia then stood up and flew like an angel into the darkness.

* * *

Erik and Parthenope found Thelxinoë in an alley beside the cold body of the sailor, his own dagger plunged to the hilt in his chest. Her dress was drenched in blood. She looked at them with tears in her eyes, and softly sang, "I guess…I really am a siren now," her voice trembled, "I just sang him to his death." She then fell, weeping, into Erik's arms.

For the next three days, Thelxinoë refused to make a single sound. She was catatonic, not eating, not sleeping, eyes glazed and red from tears. Parthenope and Erik tried everything that they could think of to bring her back, to no avail. Finally, Parthenope insisted that she spend one night completely alone with her niece.

Parthenope listened for Erik's footsteps until she was sure that he was on the roof, far away from Thelxinoë and hopefully out of earshot. She then turned to her niece. "Thelxinoë, you have to sing." When Thelxinoë didn't respond, Parthenope added, "This isn't a song for me. This is a song for you alone. I know it will be painful, but never using your voice again would be more than anyone could bear." She placed her hand gently on Thelxinoë's shoulder. "Thelxinoë, when your mother died…I felt like you do now. I felt like I would never be able to sing again," she paused, regaining her composure, "But I had to sing, Thelxinoë. It was the only way to heal," she gently lifted Thelxinoë's head. "Thelxinoë," she whispered, "you have to sing."

After a silence that seemed to last forever, Thelxinoë sang, softly at first, then loud and full. Her song had no words, but the melody was a wild phoenix, a massive, heart-wrenching sob wrought in song. Boundless, it echoed through the empty opera house, resonating in the cavernous floors beneath, twisting its way through doors and windows until it reached the midnight air. Sitting on the roof under Apollo's lyre, Erik heard the music and began to weep. This was not a human melody. This was the ultimate song of the siren, the sort of music that was impossible to hear without being changed. Across Paris that night, people would swear that they heard the voice of an angel on the wind. And even if they could not truly hear her, many in the city wept that night, remembering some lost lover or friend.

It was hours before Thelxinoë finished, her voice finally growing quiet as she ended on one impossibly pure high note. She then wiped the tears from her eyes, and stepped willingly into her aunt's embrace. "I know it hurts," Parthenope whispered, "and I know that for a while all of your songs will be about loss and grief. But you have to sing, Thelxinoë. Even if in words only, you have to sing about love and life. You have to sing about happiness, even if your songs are all sad. Until the day that you can truly smile again, you have to do your best to sing about more than just your sadness and hurt."

When Erik returned to his home the next morning, he found Thelxinoë alone. Parthenope had flown back to Anthemoessa in the night, saying that she had a great number of debts that she owed to the Gods. Thelxinoë's eyes were red from crying, but for the first time since Erik had met her, a great weight seemed to have been lifted from her slender frame. Erik decided not to mention the night's song. Some things could not be truly discussed, and Thelxinoë's outpouring of heart in song was one of them. Still, he felt the need to do something for her, to show her that he knew her pain. He sat beside her and, almost afraid, took her hand in his. "Thelxinoë," he said, "if you still wish to hear it, I am willing to play my opera for you." Thelxinoë looked at him then and whispered, "Yes, I would like that."

It had been shortly after they met that Thelxinoë had first noticed the sheet music for Erik's opera. When she had asked about it, he had told her it was his master work, _Don Juan Triumphant_. "One day I will finish this. When I do, I will go to sleep and never wake again." He almost laughed, the sort of laugh that was somehow more terrible than a sob. "The trick is to work on it as little as possible."

Thelxinoë had gazed at the sheet music in interest. "I would love to hear it," she said, "would you please play a piece for me?"

Erik had become almost angry, and he could see the shock in Thelxinoë's eyes when he responded. "No. You must never hear this work. This work is no mere music. This is no simple melody. I could play you Beethoven, and that would make you weep. But my music would change you. It would destroy you. No, Thelxinoë, I will not play you my work. Now let us return to your practice for the opera." He had almost spat the last word, mocking it.

But instead of backing down or growing frightened as Christine had, Thelxinoë had become willful. "Fine, then," she said, "I'll sing it." And she proceeded to do just that, singing the aria written on the sheet music directly in front of her. When she finished, she saw Erik's shocked expression, and said, "I worked at La Scala before coming to Paris, Erik. I may not have ever had voice lessons, but I'm not incompetent. I can read sheet music." Her face softened. "It really is beautiful, Erik, but I understand why you refuse to play it for me. This is the sort of music that will change the world, but if the world is unable to comprehend it, it can only lead to harm." Her voice became sorrowful. "Erik, your work does not have to end you. This piece does not have to finish you." She smiled. "Besides, I would be too sad if I was never able to see it performed."

Just as Thelxinoë's song was the expression of her heart, _Don Juan Triumphant_ was Erik's expression of his. He realized now in looking at the pages that he had not added to it since meeting Thelxinoë. He would have to add to the piece at some point soon. He began to play, the piano singing his anger, his sorrow, his grief and longing. The opera was an endless sob, created from every kind of suffering and pain imaginable. In the music of this opera, Erik told his life story, even if the words did not conform, the music alone was enough to convey his anguish. Finishing the final note he had written thus far, he felt as though a load had been lifted from his heart. Thelxinoë, he realized, was the one person he _could_ truly share this music with, the only one who understood him enough not to be destroyed by hearing it. As he lifted his hands from the piano, he heard Thelxinoë whisper, "Erik, I want you to know about me. I want to tell you about who I am." Erik turned to her and, this time without fear, took her hands in his. "I feel the same way," he said, "I want you to know what I have experienced."

They spent the next week telling each other their stories, this time without falsehood or concealment, the way that they wanted their stories told. Thelxinoë held nothing back about Matteo, about her short time on Anthemoessa, and the ship she had warned to stay away, an act which had lead every aunt except for Parthenope to reject her. Erik told Thelxinoë about Christine, about his mother and the mask she had given him as her first and only gift, the way she had despised him. He told Thelxinoë about his travels in the Far East, about his experiences with the Persian, about how the Daroga had saved his life.

And, one night, as they sat together beneath Apollo's lyre, their fingers twining together like ivy, they kissed. Small, frightened, trembling, their kiss was short and electric. A sensation of softness and warmth, of a single shared breath, and it was over. They looked at each other and knew. They needed no words, no music for this night.

And as they walked back into the opera house, returning to the home they now knew they would share, Parthenope sat atop Apollo's lyre, stopped humming, and smiled.

They were both too shy for their own good, or perhaps they were both too wounded to open up so readily. But Parthenope had known since she saw how Erik took care of her niece that the feelings between them had been mutual. They had just needed a little unseen coaxing to finally admit it to each other.

Parthenope flew away into the night, back to Anthemoessa, to pray to Aphrodite to bless the new lovers and to offer a sacrifice to Hermes to thank him for making her invisible for the night.

* * *

One month later, the opera had returned to what could tentatively be called normal. Carlotta still yelled at anything that dared to threaten her status as Prima Donna, Meg and Victor kissed and cuddled like puppies or heroes in children's tales, and Christine was showing more each day, her womb growing rich with her husband's child.

And Thelxinoë continued to be called Alexandra Olympia by all except for those who truly knew her, by all except for Erik and her aunt Parthenope.

There were certain sensations Erik and Thelxinoë knew they could never fully grow accustomed to, that they would never truly be able to suppress a gasp of shock and happiness when they experienced these things. Long, slender fingers combing through downy feathers hidden in starlight hair. Lyre-formed callouses pressing gently against twisted, misshapen flesh. Slightly chapped lips, impossibly soft, that pressed against one another and tasted of all the spices in the world.

And those wonderful moments in which their ecstasies would transform from the musical to the physical, transmuting gold into gold, where melodies were replaced with hurried breaths and fumbling, tremulous hands, and their mouths would turn from songs to searching, gasping, kissing passionately and deeply, as if trying to taste each other's souls.

Thelxinoë knew that there would always be a small but present place in Erik's heart where he would always love Christine, and would always wish that she could have loved him back. Thelxinoë accepted this without complaint.

And Erik knew that there would always be a small but present place in Thelxinoë's heart where she would always love Matteo, her smiling sailor with the sky-blue eyes, and would always mourn his death. Erik accepted this without complaint.

Because, at the end of the day, while they each knew that their lover held these feelings deep within the recesses of their hearts, they also knew that they loved each other most of all, and would continue to do so until the far-off day when the Fates would snip their threads and part them for a time.

And as they lived and loved together, as they sang and slept and smiled, Thelxinoë and Erik knew that they had found a place where they could truly belong. Within each other, they had found their happiness.

And what more could they have longed for, really?


End file.
